


Angeles

by sebviathan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Stoner Dean, Underage Drinking, badass rebel teenager castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:34:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every day Castiel sits on the very top of the bleachers and at the edge, and every day for at least the past month or so, Dean Winchester sits alone in the grass below the bleachers and practices playing his guitar.<br/>--<br/>It's like they've been inching towards each other forever, really. Always waiting to find exactly what they needed all at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Are you Batman?

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this for almost a year now, so here it finally is. I plan to make this more unique than any other highschool au you've ever seen.
> 
> Once I finish this, I'm going to write a Samifer side-fic to go along with it and fill in all the gaps before and after Dean and Castiel's story. It'll be able to comprehensibly stand alone, though.

As much as Castiel is known for being the rebellious one in his family, he likes a good routine to keep him grounded. Just a little bit of order is good for the soul, and he finds his in sitting on top of the bleachers (where he's technically not even supposed to be, not when no one is practicing on the field) after school every day to do his homework until his older brother comes to pick him up.

Even once he gets his driver's license and a car of his own, Castiel supposes, he'll still do this. He likes being somewhere he isn't allowed and having his head as physically close to the clouds as he can possibly get it, and he likes having a whole hour to himself with no one else. No school, no adults, no megalomaniac older brothers, no overly-religious parents. Not a single statue of Jesus in the vicinity, and the only cross being the one with a blade hidden in it dangling around his neck. Just Kansas air and the smell of freshly-mowed grass and... homework.

Well, you can't have everything. For Castiel it isn't even all that bad because he's fairly intelligent _—_ probably more so than most. No one knows that he's ranking in the top three in his class, but pretty much anyone can guess as soon as they talk to him that he's smarter than you'd think. Contrary to popular belief, being rich, from a bible-thumping family, and naturally pretty doesn't automatically make you stupid.

It builds his work ethic, anyway. And it's significantly easier for him to pen down the answers to his Biology test review when the only thing breaking the silence is the soft, occasionally hesitant strumming of a guitar down below.

Every day Castiel sits on the very top of the bleachers and at the edge, and every day for at least the past month or so, Dean Winchester sits alone in the grass below the bleachers and practices playing his guitar. He only knows Dean's name because he's seen him around in the hallways and library and the cafeteria and hears people call him by name _—_ and sometimes, angry teachers will shout out his full name after the latest prank pulled on the dumbass staff in the school.

Though he's never spoken a word to the guy, Castiel decided a while ago that he already likes him. If only for the charming smile he makes whenever he gets in trouble in front of others, and how he clearly hasn't taken any guitar lessons but is simply trying to teach himself. Dean doesn't carry the guitar around school, so he must keep it in his car and just goes and takes it out after school. Castiel has often wondered if he isn't safely able to practice at home for whatever reason, but he has never had it in him to initiate something and ask.

Dean's guitar playing, whether he's tuning it or just plucking at strings or playing parts of songs, is almost always the highlight of his day. It's the perfect background noise to doing his homework and just sitting and thinking his way through mini-existential crises, and it's nice to hear how he gets better at it with each day.

Sometimes Castiel leans over the edge and looks down to see the top of Dean's head, bent down to focus on his left hand forming the chords, just to see. As far as he knows, Dean has no idea that he sits up here. He'd like to keep it that way, if only to keep him from getting uncomfortable and moving to a different spot.

On this particular day, though _—_ a Thursday afternoon in November, mildly windy, nothing otherwise special _—_ the silence is broken by something other than guitar and quiet mumbling.

The tentative chords to something that sounds like Rolling Stones are broken by footsteps followed by a sharp, somewhat wheezed voice saying, "Our trade-and-barter deal is over for now, Winchester _—_ I need money, and I need it  _now_. And when I say 'now' I really mean right fucking now, so you better cough up the money you owe me or we'll both be in trouble."

Castiel sinks lower in his seat at once, holding his breath with only small, soft breaths allowed to as to remain unnoticeable and silent. He's not scared so much as he is determined to not make himself known to be present or become a part of whatever this is. Eavesdropping is an art, after all. He would know, having snuck around so much and listened to so many conversations (and gotten in trouble for it) as a child.

There's the soft thump of Dean's guitar being set on the ground quickly. It's urgent, clearly.

"What _—_ why now _—_?"

"Don't ask, just-just hand it over. You owe it to me anyway and I  _need_  it."

A few moments of silence, and then Dean's voice again. "I don't have any money on me. I get my paycheck in a week, can't you just wait _—_ "

"Are you fucking  _deaf_ , Winchester?" the other guy shouts, sounding even more sleazy and gross than before. It sounds like he's stepping closer to Dean now, and _—_ there's a small yelp, like something's wrong. Castiel peaks over the edge and sees the guy trying to drag Dean up by his shirt. His eyes widen in concern and it takes a lot to still not make any noise. "Where's the money? I know you have  _something_ _—_ in your car, at home, somewhere _—_ "

"I  _don't_!" Dean finally seems to retaliate, shoving him away a foot or so. "Leave me the fuck alone, Alastair. I don't have your money and you don't need whatever new drug some dealer is trying to sell you right now, and I'll pay you at some point but right now, just  _fuck off_!"

But the other guy _—_ Alastair, apparently _—_ just looks angrier and starts to step forward again.

That's when fear jumps so high in Castiel that he makes an impulse decision to grab his biology textbook and drop it directly onto Alastair's head.

"You _—_ _fuck_ _—_!"

The shock, if not also the pain, seems to have made him stumble backwards and fall on his ass. Dean unnecessarily rotates his whole body and looks up in pure surprise, only to find a smirking Castiel who, in the next second, sprints down a few steps and pulls a James Bond, throwing himself over the railing as well and holding on for a moment until he decides it's a good time to let go and land on his feet.

As he gets in between them, Dean's looking utterly confused (and definitely in awe), and Alastair just looks angry and thrown off by surprise.

"What _—_ who the fuck are you?" he stammers, funnily enough going into a higher pitch (out of fear, maybe?).

"Castiel. Novak. And I'm pretty sure Dean told you to fuck off." His voice is more gravely than usual, now, and he's pretty sure that his clothes and hair are ruffled and this is really  _not_  how he intended his first impression on Dean to be. But whatever, too late now.

Alastair's eyes narrow in recognition of the last name, but he stupidly does not back down. "And why should I?" comes his slimy voice, honestly making Castiel really want to punch him just for talking. Maybe he will.

And he narrows his eyes right back at him. "Because I can sue you for damages if you lay a single hand on him, and my family has enough influence that I could send you to prison for drug use right now and have Dean's records stay completely clean. I also have a black belt and could break all your fingers without even trying. Or you could just walk away right now. Your choice."

Slowly but surely, the rusty gears clicking to life behind Alastair's eyes come to the reasoned decision that he should choose the last option and leave, with no more than a dirty glare in their direction. So he does, and Castiel has nothing left to do but pick up his textbook and turn around.

Dean still looks exactly the same way he did a minute ago. In  _awe_. Castiel stands still and keeps his facial expression intact (trying not to dread too much) while he waits for him to say something.

"Are... you  _Batman_?"

Those are the very first words that Dean Winchester says to him, and Castiel can't even figure out whether he's serious or not. Or even how to respond other than the beginnings of a laugh _—_

But luckily he doesn't have to think about what to say because Dean continues: "You just basically swooped in and saved the day like you're a fucking superhero _—_ that's... really fucking  _cool_." Dean's awe breaks into a grin and he glances in Alastair's direction to make sure he's gone. "But, uh... why were you up there in the first place? You weren't stalking me, were _—_?"

"Oh! _—_ No, no, I was just doing my homework like I do every day, and _—_ "

"Relax," Dean laughs. "I was kidding." Seems that Castiel really does overreact sometimes. And he doesn't exactly talk to people outside his family much, so it's objectively understandable. "So... you just decided to turn into Bruce Wayne and save me from Alastair."

They both shift their feet around on the grass, and the textbook starts to feel awkward in Castiel's arms.

"I'm afraid I don't get the reference, but... yeah. I guess. I would have been a pretty shitty person for doing absolutely nothing."

The side of Castiel's mouth quirks upward to match Dean's, and they're still standing there. Shifting every second or so. It should probably feel awkward, but it doesn't. He likes the small space between them.

"Ha, yeah, probably..." Dean looks down and shoves his hands into his pockets. And then immediately pulls one of them back out, looking like he feels stupid when he sticks it out toward Castiel. "You, uh, apparently already know my name, but I'm Dean Winchester. I like cars, guitar, and long walks on the beach."

The little bitch of a smirk that Dean gives him makes him laugh enough that he almost forgets how odd it feels to actually shake someone's hand. "You apparently already heard me say my name, too, but I'm Castiel Novak. I like science, committing misdemeanors, and candle-lit dinners."

They shake hands and it doesn't even feel like it  _should_  feel awkward, it just feels right. Dean doesn't stop looking directly into his eyes until it's over, and it isn't over for several seconds.

Luckily, Dean has the initiative to sit down in the grass right afterwards and motion that Castiel do the same, so they don't have to kill their legs standing anymore.

"So, ah... do you actually like candle-lit dinners?" is the very next thing Dean says.

Castiel just shrugs. "Don't know, never actually had one."

There's a moment of silence that is only slightly awkward.

"Alright, next question: Have you been listening to me play my guitar this whole time? Because you said you sat up there every day, and _—_ shit, you've heard it all, probably. You fucking heard me  _talking_  to myself _—_ "

"Dean!" Castiel could tell he was getting anxious and embarrassed, and in no way does he want him to feel like that. So he gestures out and almost puts a hand on Dean's shoulder before deciding against it. "It's fine, I swear. You're pretty good at guitar, actually. It's... um. It's nice to listen to when I do homework.

"But I talk to myself, too."

"So do I. Who cares?"

Looks like Dean doesn't have much to say to that except smile. And then, several moments later, he seems to think of something else important.

"Do you mind if I call you Cas, for short? I mean, Castiel is a pretty weird name and kind of a mouthful _—_ _shit_ _—_ I didn't mean _—_ "

This time, he  _really_  laughs. "Yeah, that's fine, Dean. I'm pretty sure you know my parents are complete Jesus-freaks, and... well. They wanted to name me after an angel that wasn't even mentioned in the Bible. It's kind of dumb, actually. But I like my name and honestly, it's the only good decision my mother ever made. So... yeah, there's the story behind my mouthful of a name. In case you wanted to know. No one really ever calls me Cas, but now that I think about, it would be easier."

"Man, I wish I had some cool reason behind my name," Dean tells him, shuffling slightly closer on the grass. "I was just given the boy version of  _Deanna_ _—_ my grandma's name. My dad tried to tell me that he named me after James Dean when I was little but then when I got older he told me the boring truth, the bastard."

Once again, Castiel is left with a wrinkled brow of ignorance. "Who's James Dean?"

He isn't expecting the loud scoff that Dean makes, or the pure condescension in his tone when he says, "Man, you really don't get out at all, do you? First you don't know about Bruce Wayne is, now you don't know about James Dean _—_ "

" _Excuse you_ _—_ for the record, I get out plenty," Castiel assures him. "I just don't get invested in pop culture."

He can't help but smile at Cas's small harrumph, and then he goes on explaining them. Halfway through the whole shebang with James Dean, though, Cas raises a finger and says, "Wait, he's the one who died in a head-on collision and had a bisexual affair, isn't he? Yeah, I know about him."

Dean doesn't know whether to smack himself or laugh. " _That's_  what you remember about him?"

Eventually, it becomes hard to believe that they've come to this point. Talking pop culture and vaguely personal information and schoolwork for twenty minutes, and not once do they even mention the deal with Alastair or the fact that they've only  _really_  known each other for twenty minutes. And of course they don't mention how they've been sitting possibly too close for comfort, or how neither of them can seem to stop smiling while the other is talking. Castiel doesn't mention that he's been noticing how at home Dean's hands look when they're on his guitar, and Dean doesn't mention how Cas's eyes are such an intense blue that he can't stop looking.

At the same time, it's perfectly easy to believe. It honestly feels like they've been best friends for ages. And like they've formed some sort of silent pact though neither of them know exactly what it is yet.

When Castiel checks his watch and finds that Michael will have been waiting in the car for several minutes now, he jolts up with a spark of panic and runs back up the bleachers to get his backpack. Hastily and with quick apologies, he gathers everything together and tells Dean that he really needs to go.

"But I'll, uh. See you tomorrow. Bye, Dean!"

With that, Dean watches him run off to the parking lot and realizes that he was barely able to practice today. He can't bring himself to care that much when he's just found someone who seems so genuinely interested to know him that he just can't believe it.

And while Michael berates him for taking so long, all Castiel has on his mind is how he never managed to ask what the situation with Alastair had been. Though he doesn't know if that even matters.

* * *

 

Dean goes home not long after, and he finds Sam and his weird best friend, Lucifer, sitting on the front porch together.

"Hey, Dad told you that little creep isn't allowed over anymore," Dean reminds him roughly, glaring at Lucifer and getting a frown in return. Funnily enough, though, it's Sam who looks more upset about that.

"But Luc's my  _friend_ ," he insists, leaning forward earnestly. His face is going a little red, and Dean can only assume it's whatever anger a 12 year-old boy can muster. "He didn't do anything wrong, Dad's just finding stupid reasons not to like him. And Dad's not even home. Are you going to tell him?"

Dean actually does think about it, and he thinks about how he could give his little brother a lot of pretty  _good_  reasons their dad has for not wanting Lucifer around, but he really doesn't want to get into that argument right now. So he just sighs and starts walking again, turning the handle and pushing the screen door in.

"No, I won't."

Until he's made it past the living room he hears Lucifer's muffled voice thanking Sam and he feels an uncomfortable twist in his stomach. Dean's not even entirely sure if it's justified anymore, but he was just never able to like that kid, ever since he befriended his brother in first grade. There's something off about him, that much he (and his dad) can tell, and so he can't help but be worried.

He pushes that aside, though, as he dumps his backpack off in his bedroom and goes to the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. Without his dad at home, he contemplates taking his guitar out of the impala's trunk to practice for a bit, but then he supposes he won't play too well after he's had a beer. Might as well just drink and relax.

As he slumps down on the couch (which is covered in stains and should really be replaced, at this point _—_ if they could somehow afford it) and turns the TV on, his first thought is Castiel, and if maybe he'd ever be willing to bring him home.

But then he thinks of how rich the Novak family is and how he's probably so used to living in bigger, cleaner spaces that he'd be disgusted by this little shithole. And he decides all at once that he's not going to embarrass himself in front of a guy like that ever. Castiel is  _never_  coming over.

And then he realizes the way that he's thinking about Castiel right now _—_ a guy he basically just met despite having known about his family's reputation beforehand _—_ and can't help but wonder how his dad would feel about it. Dean, the big brother who's supposed to aspire to be like his old man and the embodiment of manliness itself, bringing home a  _boy_?

He feels sick just thinking about it, really. He doesn't want to think of how this guy has a voice that sounds like sandpaper but is somehow still so charming, and he doesn't want to think about how he's never seen eyes that pretty even on a girl, and he most certainly does  _not_  want to think about what his dad would do to him if he knew.

So he flips through channels until it gets to some football game he can pretend to care about (skipping the soap operas he secretly likes, of course), and he glues his eyes to the screen. Sports are probably the manliest thing you can think about, right?

Sports.  _Just think about sports, Dean. And take a drink of beer._

God, even after a year or so of drinking regularly, it's still disgusting. But it helps him mellow down on the inside, just a little.

* * *

 

Without thinking much about it, Castiel goes to the top of bleachers on Friday afternoon instead of the grass below it. For a moment he considers whether Dean will want him down there to bother and keep him, yet again, from practicing _—_ though the way they parted ways yesterday made it feel like they had both agreed that talking to each other after school would be an everyday thing... Rarely is Castiel so unsure of himself, but he decides to stay up there and read for now. Just in case. Because suddenly, inexplicably, someone has come along whose opinion matters to him.

A few minutes later there's the sound of footsteps, and then Dean's voice: "...Cas?"

He decides that he really likes it when Dean calls him that.

And immediately, he pokes his head over the railing and sees Dean standing a bit away from the bleachers so he can see him, guitar case propped up by his hand on the ground.

"Yes?"

"It's Friday."

"...Yes."

"So what homework do you even have to do?"

After a moment of silence between them, Cas cracks a smile. Before saying a thing, he "becomes Batman" again and flips himself over the rails only to land somewhat crookedly on the ground, and Dean throws an arm out to catch him.

"I completely meant to do that," he says in the most monotone voice he can do. Which is, actually, fairly easy. "I, uh _—_ I don't really have any homework. I just figured that you wanted to practice."

For a second or so, Dean glances back and forth to his guitar as though he forgot that he even had it with him.

"Oh," he says, trying (and failing) to hide his forgetfulness and the fact that he's clearly been focused on something other than practicing. "Yeah. I should probably do that. You can still, uh... sit and listen, though. And talk. If you want."

Of course he wants to. So that's exactly what he does, and while Dean takes out the guitar and starts tuning it, he has to ask _—_

"So what did Alastair want money for, anyway?"

Dean doesn't look at him immediately like Castiel thought he might. Instead, he stiffens and slowly turns the last key to the pitch he wants. And then, seconds later, he sighs and seems to be ready to answer.

"Weed. He's... my dealer. Kind of." He says it sheepishly, like he's ashamed of the fact. It's not exactly uncommon for highschoolers to smoke pot, especially not around here, but Dean's not exactly proud of it. And he definitely doesn't expect Castiel to see it as a good quality.

 _Oh._  Castiel's eyes widen slightly in surprise. "That's kind of surprising, actually."

"Really? Why?"

"You just... you don't look like you get stoned terribly often. Not like some of the other guys around here who you can just really  _tell_." At that, he grimaces slightly, thinking of how uncomfortable he generally is around those kids who are just perpetually stoned. "I honestly don't care, though. Smoke all the weed you want, just as long as you don't burn out  _too_ many brain cells."

Castiel gives him this sarcastic grin and leans back with his palms digging into the grass, and Dean can't help but laugh, a lot less tense, now. "You ever do pot?"

"Once," he says, wrinkling his nose. "I didn't like it. Don't like inhaling things that aren't air."

Dean finds that oddly endearing. "There's always pot brownies."

"Dean, are you always this bad of an influence?"

He can't even keep the straight face up for more than a second or so before he's laughing and hitting Dean on the side of the arm to make sure he knows it was a joke.

"That sounds like something I could make a song out of," he says half-seriously, promptly strumming a loud chord on his guitar and several to follow _—_ and then, in a purposely gruff singing voice, " _I'm a bad influence 'cause I smoke a lot of pot, but I drive a cool car and I look really hot_ _—_ you do the next line, Cas!"

With that, Castiel freezes and panics, having no idea what to say or do except laugh because Dean's really into it all of a sudden. "I... I, uh _—_ I can't sing."

"Come on, I'm sure you're not that bad," he tells him, still strumming. "Just make something up."

"No, I mean I just can't. Not in front of other people." His brief panic shows through, and when Dean realizes the look his eyes and the way he swallows, he stops and snacks his hand on the strings to make them completely silent. "Sorry, Dean, I just _—_ "

"Nah, it's okay, man. I totally get it. I actually get pretty anxious singing in front of anyone but my brother, too... It's kind of a miracle I suddenly had the confidence to do it just now."

Smiling awkwardly and trying not to give away any of the feelings stirring up inside him, Dean immediately looks away from Castiel's eyes and wipes his hands on the knees of his pants to distract himself.

"For the record, though, I've been told that I sing beautifully when I sing in the shower."

In his effort to not imagine Cas in a shower, Dean scoffs. "By who?"

Without missing a beat _—_ "My mother."

Honestly, Castiel doesn't understand why that's so funny to Dean, though he thinks he understand when Dean eventually coughs, momentarily closes his legs, and starts strumming on the guitar again.

They fall into a comfortable lull of Dean playing songs that Castiel vaguely recognizes and then tells him what it was _—_ and  _then_  tells him to go listen to some good music over the weekend so he can actually know what they're supposed to sound like and thus give him good feedback. For the most part, he honestly doesn't care how well Dean plays; he just cares about the way his face looks when he's doing it, how he's so passionate yet calm, and how he seems to lose himself a little bit but is always too anxious to go full blast.

After a month of just hearing the strumming from up above and admiring the boy behind it from a distance, finally talking to him is actually quite relieving. And absolutely nothing he could have expected, but not disappointing whatsoever.

Meanwhile, with every breath that Dean takes to ask Cas what he thinks, and every time he looks up from the guitar, he feels like it's something he's been missing.

Castiel almost forgets about Michael coming to pick him up entirely.


	2. I'll try my best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than expected to write due to procrastination as well as my decision to write another multi-chaptered fic at the same time, and I'm vaguely sorry. I'm also pretty sure, at this point, that this fic will be no more than five chapters. There are also a few characters mentioned in this chapter that aren't listed in the tags, and I'm likely not going to add them until they actually show up and/or have a speaking role.

The year is 1995, and teachers simply don't  _care_  enough about violence amongst students yet to stop anything that isn't a typical full-out fight in the middle of the hallway with other students crowding around and chanting for them to fight.

So when Castiel is spotted by his locker by Alastair and approached with obvious malice on Monday morning, though there is at least one staff member in the vicinity, no one does a thing. Not even when he slams the locker shut and nearly clips Castiel's face.

Instead of looking at all frightened, though, he merely smirks at the scum in front of him and lets his arms drop to his sides.

"I guess you're not as much of a coward as I thought," he says, and Alastair only scowls worse.

"Crowley told me you wanted to see me _—_ what for? You jealous for your boyfriend? Think you can beat me in a fight _—_?"

Castiel doesn't acknowledge Alastair calling Dean his boyfriend, but just pulls his wallet out of his pocket. "I want to pay you off. For all the weed you loaned Dean. Going off what he told me, two-hundred ought to cover everything and probably more." He hands over the money _—_ it's no problem to him because his family is just too wealthy for their own good-but doesn't let him have it immediately. "And I also want you to stay away from Dean. Don't touch him, don't try to sell him anymore drugs, don't fucking talk to him _—_ don't even fucking  _look_  at him, okay? Because even if he doesn't tell me, I'll know."

The look in Castiel's eyes should tell Alastair that he's dead serious. And the fear is present in his own, and he's not very good at hiding it.

"I can't stay away from him completely, we have Auto together _—_ "

"Then try your best."

His perfectly calm tone is probably what makes it the most terrifying. Castiel has the sort of face that even Alastair can tell is hiding merciless, possibly even  _divine_  wrath, and he will not hesitate to unleash it if need be.

Without another word, he moves Alastair's hand and opens his locker back up to get a textbook and check his hair in the small mirror he's put in there. He decides it's not nearly messy enough and ruffles it up more, artfully messing it to the point that it made him look like he'd just had someone else's hands in his hair. Perfect.

Alastair doesn't move, though, and when Castiel finally closes it again, he just stares straight at him.

"Dean ever tell you how he was compensating for not paying me for the pot?"

With the slimy way he says it, Castiel feels sure that he probably doesn't want to know. But rather than just walking away and letting it remain a mystery to him, he shifts his stance and frowns.

"I just assumed he was borrowing."

"Well, technically he was. He had to pay me back at some point, but I let him get away with that because each time he got some from me, I made him suck my dick."

At that, Castiel stills. He can feel rage start building up inside his chest but doesn't let it show. "You're lying. Dean wouldn't stoop that low."

"Oh, he stooped  _really_  low, Cas _—_ probably about thirty times. He wanted the weed that bad _—_ "

Before Alastair can say anything else, Castiel's fist connects with his face, and then again with his shirt to shove him up against the locker before his head can even make the full arc. It leaves him both bloody and winded, and then extremely uncomfortable and scared with Castiel's judgmental eyes suddenly an inch from his.

"Only  _Dean_  is allowed to call me that. Now go wash your fucking face off and don't tell any teachers that I was the one who punched you or I'll tell them you're selling pot."

Luckily there aren't any teachers around anymore so none, in fact, saw what happened. Castiel would have done his time in detention without complaint, though, if there had been.

Leaving Alastair a scared mess, he walks away from the scene with an odd sense of grace in his stride.

* * *

 

"I paid Alastair off for you," is the first thing that Castiel says to him when Dean arrives at their spot with his guitar after school. "So you don't have to worry about him."

"What?" Dean doesn't really know what to say to him as he sits down quickly and sets his guitar to the side. "You just _—_ "

"Gave him the money that you owed him, yeah," he nods, smiling slightly in pride. "And told him to leave you alone completely. And I punched him in the face _—_ my knuckles still kind of hurt, but it was worth it."

Dean looks simultaneously unable to fathom the whole situation and sadistically proud of him for punching Alastair _—_ it comes out in a single, deep laugh.

"I _—_ shit, thanks, Cas. I mean, that gets him off my ass... but now I owe  _you_ _—_ "

"No you don't," he assures him at once. "I don't want a single dime from you, Dean."

"How much did you pay him?"

"Not telling."

"Come on, Cas _—_ you can't just pay all that off for me and expect  _nothing_ , that's not how it works! Fuck, at least let me mow your lawn or give you a back rub or _—_ um, shit _—_ forget that last one."

Mock-sighing, Castiel turns around so that his back is facing Dean and says, "Well, if you insist, you can get started on that back rub."

And then before Dean can ask to make sure whether he's serious or not, Castiel laughs and turns back around.

"Can't you just take a favor, Dean?"

"I don't like getting hand-outs," he tells him stubbornly, with a real sigh. "It makes me feel like I seem weak or like I can't hold my own. I like to  _earn_  what I get, you know?"

That, he honestly can understand, but Dean's stubbornness is just frustrating. Sometimes people just want to be nice and give you things and you have to accept them regardless of whether you think you deserve it or not. Castiel knows extra money is hard to come by for him, and he doesn't want him to pay him in blowjobs or anything else he wouldn't normally do.

"Fine," he finally relents, folding his arms behind his head and lowering himself to lie on the ground. "Pay me by playing a song."

"But I already do that all the time."

"Well, it's all I want from you."

The way he turns to lie on his side and smiles up at him makes it pretty hard to say no. So Dean looks away before he can start smiling too much and picks up his guitar, focusing solely on his hands and not at Castiel's face until he has it positioned perfectly.

"Any requests?" he asks him, trying hard to hide the lump in his throat (which he doesn't even really know  _why_ it's there).

"Uh... do you know anything by Fleetwood Mac?"

Dean doesn't even stop himself from laughing out loud. "Out of all the bands you could actually know about, you know  _them_?"

Castiel just shrugs. "My parents hate Stevie Nicks because they're convinced she dabbles in witchcraft, so I listen to her to spite them. Aside from just wanting to make my parents mad, I can actually really appreciate her lyrical genius and the allusions to fiction. Did you know that  _Rhiannon_  is about a Welsh witch?"

"I did, actually," Dean says proudly. "Did you know a lot of Lynard Skynard's songs are about Lord of the Rings?"

"No, I didn't _—_ I've never even read those books, actually."

"Are you serious? Oh my God, there is  _so_  much I have to make you read and watch."

Dean's continuous disappointment in his lack of knowledge of pop culture is just as amusing to Castiel as his obliviousness to pop culture is to Dean. Honestly, he loves having a friend that he can talk about these things to and get an interested look in return rather than annoyance.

Castiel can pretty easily sense a rant coming on, so he stops it before it can happen:

"Can you play  _Dreams_?"

"Oh _—_ uh... yeah, I think so. Just hold on."

If he was trying to make fun of Fleetwood Mac before, Dean sure is a hypocrite because he plays it like he's practiced it too many times. Castiel stays on his side and watches the way his hands move, and he keeps looking up to Dean's eyes, which occasionally look back to him only for him to immediately look down in embarrassment, and then only for Castiel's grin to widen.

At some point it seems that he's rolled back onto his back again, but his neck is still stretched out to watch Dean. God, if he did gigs, Castiel would pay to see him every single day if only to watch his face and hands. And just knowing that he's probably the only person Dean has ever played in front of... it makes him feel particularly special.

When he gets to the chords of the first chorus, Dean starts singing it under his breath _—_ he doesn't even realise that he's doing it at first, but then when Castiel leans back and sings along as well, he notices and gains confidence in his voice.

So then Castiel notices that Dean's singing louder now, and even though just a few days before he'd told him that he doesn't like to sing in front of other people, he just... finds himself comfortable. After just four days of knowing him, Dean is probably the one person he can trust the most and whom he doesn't feel weird around whatsoever.

And he can sing  _so_  much better than expected.

Castiel would honestly say that Dean's voice is beautiful, and Dean would say the same thing but neither of them say a single word of that nature after the song is done.

"Was that, uh... good?" It's a legitimate question, and Dean tilts his head forward and raises an eyebrow to make sure. "Good enough that it's worth over an ounce of marijuana?" He grins down at him.

Screwing up his face like he's thinking about it, Castiel stretches (in the process of which, his tight shirt rides up a little and Dean thinks his eyes catch a metallic shine, but he chooses not to acknowledge it) and eventually says, "Throw in one more song and it's a deal. Your choice, whatever song you want. And then we're completely even and you can't argue at all."

Though he still doesn't think it's fair, he grabs his guitar again and readies his hand on the strings to play the first chord of the very first song he thinks of _—_ the Beatles'  _Yesterda_ y.

* * *

 

Sometime later that week, Dean catches sight of a little piece of metal when Castiel's shirt lifts up again, and this time he's absolutely sure that he's seen it. However small it might seem, it's such a revelation to him that he very nearly doesn't stop himself from reaching out and lifting Castiel's shirt back up. (That especially doesn't help all the thoughts he's suddenly having of pushing his shirt up in an entirely different context _—_ and how the guy probably wears tight shirts on cold days entirely on purpose.)

"Dude, is that _—_ do you have your belly button pierced?"

Without the odd look that Dean was expecting, Castiel widens his eyes in excitement and sits up at once, lifting up his shirt just a bit past the ball end of the top of the ring. It's simple, just a silver bar through that bit of skin right above his belly button, but Dean's heart stammers in his chest and he really  _can't_  stop staring.

"Oh _—_ yeah! I did it a few months ago after my parents told me that they thought that people shouldn't ' _alter the body God gave them_ ' _—_ cool, isn't it?"

People would probably expect a guy like him (a self-proclaimed womanizer, that is) to tell him that belly button piercings are for girls, and he hasn't even really thought about them being on anyone _but_  girls _—_ but shit, Castiel really pulls it off. So he just goes with the first answer that comes to mind.

"It's  _kick-ass_ , Cas _—_ you ever gonna get more?"

He grins and lets his shirt go but doesn't pull it down. "I'd get something in my eyebrow, maybe, if I didn't know that my parents would obviously see them and force me to take them out. Do you want any piercings?"

"Nah, not really, I just like them on other people," Dean tells him _—_ and then he freezes and panics internally that Castiel might take that to mean that he's attracted to him, which wouldn't  _technically_  be a lie but he just doesn't want him to know. "Uh _—_ I kind of want at least one tattoo, though. Like a protective symbol on my chest or something."

And then there's a shine in Castiel's eyes that makes Dean worry briefly, before he starts to turn around and say, "Dean, you _have_  to see mine _—_ check it out." Immediately, he pulls off his shirt to show his unsurprisingly pale back _—_ and from his bony spine, two elaborately detailed wings are sprouting in ink. They fan out on his shoulder blades and down his back, almost all the way to the bottom.

" _Woah_  shit _—_ when did you get that?" Again, he wants to reach out and touch. At least this time he has a better reason. And this time the tattoo is just such a surprise that he doesn't stop his fingers from grazing it just slightly, and Castiel tenses up a little but doesn't protest whatsoever.

"A little before the belly button ring," he answers, turning around to face him and pulling the shirt back on. He catches Dean's eye flitting down to his chest before he does, though, and smirks in pride. Mostly because of his tattoo, though. " _And_  I figure that if my parents ever find out about it, I'll just tell them it's for religious reasons. They can't force me to get it removed, anyway."

The look in Castiel's eyes combined with his grin and the way his hair was always messy honestly just makes him look  _crazy_. Dean decides it's a good kind of crazy. It's rebelliousness, and it's everything he's ever wanted to be.

"Have you always been such a little shit-disturber?" he laughs, definitely not trying to hide how much he admires that quality in his friend.

Without missing a beat, Castiel ironically raises his hand in a rocker hand sign and says, "Fighting the system and sticking it to the man since 1979, man."

Sometime later, he'll tell Dean about how he was, indeed, brainwashed by his family's religious bullshit for a time until he got a mind of his own, but for now it's just hilarious to imagine him exiting the womb with punk spikes around his wrist and a beer bottle already in hand.

* * *

 

"Isn't it about time that you learn to drive?" is what Michael says to him when he gets in the car on Friday afternoon and slams the door shut.

"Isn't it about time you moved out?" Castiel retorts almost immediately, eyeing his older brother critically. Most people don't live with their parents at age 25 _—_ if he was still going to college and wanted to live at home instead of a dorm, that would be one thing. But he isn't, so it's an entirely different thing.

Michael turns the key in the ignition and starts driving out of the school parking lot before saying anything.

"Someone has to keep an eye on you and Anna while Dad is away at work all day and Mom is constantly on business trips."

"Then someone can drive me to and from school, too."

Castiel smirks and Michael frowns, clearly annoyed but putting up with it if only to keep from starting a fight. Because it always seems that way _—_ the oldest starts it, and the youngest fuels the fire. Conflict in the Novak house generally just goes one way.

Though he'd really like to learn to drive, of course. And then he could get his own car and drive himself places instead of getting rides or just walking everywhere, and Michael wouldn't have to know a single thing he did. But with their parents almost never being home, they never had the time to teach him (and he definitely wasn't going to get Michael to do it) or at least enroll him in a driving school. He supposes he'll just have to deal with it for a while.

Anna is reading in an armchair in their living room as usual when he gets home, and she barely even looks up at him when he walks through the door. She also seems to be the only one home. Everything is as usual.

Smirking at the picture frame that holds a picture of David Bowie instead of Jesus (he replaced it several days ago and no one has noticed yet), Castiel immediately heads upstairs to his room. For the longest time, he has nothing to do but stare at the ceiling above his bed and think about the possibilities of what he could do next to piss off his parents _—_ until, that is, he thinks of Dean and has the impulse decision to call him.

They've known each other for a week, so why not?

Well, there's the fact that Dean hasn't actually given him his number. It shouldn't be hard to find in the phonebook (because how many Winchesters can there possibly be in Lawrence?), but maybe he would find that weird or creepy?

Then again, a lot of the things that most people find weird about Castiel seem to make Dean smile.

When he really thinks about it, pretty much everything Castiel does makes him smile.

But as rebellious as he is, he doesn't exactly feel too much pride, and it's still hard to believe that there's finally someone who likes him so much that they'll... well, for one, make him trust them enough to sing in front of them.

As far as he knows, Dean doesn't have many other friends. He's mentioned Benny, who helps him out a lot with homework in Geometry, and Garth, who seems to think that he's everyone's best friend. That's really it, and he's not even close to either of them. He's just close to his little brother and, if Castiel is right, him.

There's a sudden feeling like a shock in his gut that says  _Ah, fuck it,_  and he chooses he better act on it now so he isn't wishing he'd done it later.

As expected, he only finds one Winchester that lives in Lawrence _—_ _John Winchester_ _—_ and he doesn't think Dean has ever told him his dad's name before, but who else could it be?

He holds his breath and dials the number.

When it picks up, there's a deep, scratchy "Hello?" on the other line. Kind of similar to how Dean sounds when he's trying to be particularly masculine for whatever reason.

"Hi, is Dean home?"

There's a pause, and then there's suspicion in the man's (who can only be John) voice when he says, "Who is this?"

"I'm _—_ Dean's friend, Cas." He guesses that people don't usually call for Dean. And by the soft scoffing sound that he can hear on the other line, he can guess that his dad is surprised that he has friends at all.

"Hold on a second _—_ _Dean!_ " John yells, holding the phone away from his mouth. It's still loud enough Castiel can hear. "Your friend's on the phone!"

He hears the sound of a door opening and then slamming shut, and Dean's breathless voice saying, "What?"

"Here, your friend called you." He hands his son the phone and walks away, and Dean is left confused for a moment before finally putting the phone to his ear.

"...Cas?"

"Your dad sounds a lot like you," he decides to say.

Dean doesn't know how to feel about that, so he ignores it. "I never gave you my number."

"Yeah, I found it in the phonebook _—_ I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh." Somehow, though that should probably make him feel weird, it doesn't. At the most, his chest grows warm because this is the first time they've talked outside of their spot under the bleachers, and because Castiel actually wanted to talk to him that badly. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Anything, really. I'm just bored."

"Nothing to do in that big house of yours?" he laughs, remembering all that Cas has told him _—_ they've got a whole room just for art, and a wall-library, and a room with a pool table, and even an office with a computer. And even though that's not exactly rare, Dean's family has never had much money at all, so owning a computer seems like the ultimate luxury. He's always had to go to a library to use one.

"Nothing I feel like doing," Castiel sighs, falling back onto his bed. "Michael is making dinner and it's probably gonna be gross so I kind of want to just go somewhere and eat. You want to come over? We could drive somewhere and get pizza or something."

All at once, Dean's panic alarms go off and he's left sitting there, completely still, and trying to remember how to breathe. He's not even entirely sure why he's panicking at first, but then it dawns on him that his friend is proposing that they go out to eat together, and they've never even talked outside of their spot before now, and he doesn't know what this is supposed to mean. Is this supposed to be a date? He has no idea, and it's terrifying. And he's nervous and anxious beyond belief so it takes him a few moments of wetting his lips and swallowing before he can say anything.

"I, uh _—_ actually, my dad is probably gonna leave the house soon, and I have to watch Sam," he says, really not lying at all but hating himself for rejecting the offer like that. 'Sorry, Cas. Um... maybe another time?"

"Oh." Castiel tries to hide the slight dejection in his voice, but he's pretty sure Dean can hear it. "Yeah sure, that's fine. So... does your dad work the night-shift or something?" He almost smacks himself afterwards for how stupid and rude it was to ask something like that, but it was just the only thing he could think to say.

"Yeah. Well, at least that's what he says. I'm pretty sure he's mostly getting drunk, though." A moment later, he quickly checks around him to make sure his dad didn't hear him say that. There's no sign of him, luckily.

_Oh._  Vaguely, he remembers that Dean might have offhandedly mentioned before that his dad is a drunk, but it hasn't stuck with him until now. His own parents are religious nutjobs and haven't exactly been the best to him, but that really sucks. Honestly, it just makes him want to take Dean out places and give him anything and everything that he can afford because he deserves better than the life he has.

"Sounds like you don't like your dad," is what he ends up saying.

"Kind of," Dean admits in a slightly broken voice. "I mean, he's not father of the year. But I've spent my whole life trying to impress him and be like him, and even though I'm a teenager now and I honestly do see what's wrong with the situation... I can't help but still do that, you know? I still need his approval to validate myself."

"That's what people generally call an abusive relationship," Castiel tells him without missing a beat.

"No, it's not really like that _—_ "

"Yes, that's exactly what it is, Dean." He probably sounds angry now, though he isn't trying to. "It's emotionally abusive, and I know because I used to have that kind of relationship with my dad. I don't see him much now because of his job, thank God, but it fucks with you, I know. Don't let him make you feel that way."

Dean doesn't have much to say to that. He can't argue, and he doesn't want to say that just  _not letting_  his dad make him feel insecure is hard to do. It's not like he wants to let him.

"Okay," he finally says, nodding slightly in agreement though Castiel obviously can't see it. "I'll, uh... do my best." And he can't help but let out a laugh afterwards, but he isn't sure whether it's out of nervousness or in amazement that Castiel is actually making him want to try harder.

They talk until it's time for Dean to make dinner for Sam, at which point he's sorry to hang the phone up but also relieved, in a way. Now he can breathe and sort out his feelings and not have to worry about Castiel hearing it in his voice.

Sam tells him that he wants macaroni and cheese, though the only remaining box was supposed to be for Dean since he hasn't had any lately. He caves at the slightest hint of Sam's puppy-eyes, though, and makes it for him anyway. He'll just fix himself a sandwich and eat whatever his brother doesn't finish (if there's any of it _—_ he's been eating quite a lot lately).

Ten is the latest that he lets Sam stay up because he gets particularly irritable and angry when he's tired during the day _—_ so it's important that he gets a good amount of sleep. Honestly, Dean's been getting kind of worried about him. Yeah, the whole "hating the world" attitude might just be him growing up and becoming a teenager, but he honestly just seems angry almost all the time. Except when he's around Lucifer, that is. Dean's starting to think their friendship must be at least somewhat of a good thing if Sam is happier around the kid.

Maybe Sam just hates the household he has to live in, Dean thinks. With just the bare minimum to feed them and pay the pills, a dad who's drunk half the time and an older brother who can't be there for him enough, he can't blame him. Really he just keeps blaming himself, and he can't help it.

It reminds him why he turned to weed in the first place. It's not nearly as bad as any other drugs, and it keeps him calm and lessens his anxiety. And with everything going on _—_ confusion over how he feels about Cas and worrying about his little brother and feeling particularly self-loathing _—_ it seems like the perfect thing to do.

He checks the bag he keeps inside a sock in his drawer and finds enough for about two joints. One is all he needs, and he should be perfectly safe with Sam asleep and his dad being sure to be out of the house for at least another two hours.

For the time being, the high is great and just enough to make him calm and slightly happier, but at the same time not so much that he's getting giggly at every little thing. He rarely ever does it like that, anyway _—_ the only time he's ever even been high with other people was once with Benny outside the school, and then a couple of times with Alastair when he was just starting out, to get the hang of it.

Dean doesn't get high to socialize or because it's fun, but rather as a medicine. Whatever it is that he's got, if it can even be given a name (he wouldn't know because he's never been to a psychologist), it helps.

When he starts coming off the high, he vaguely wonders what he'll do after the next joint he rolls, since he'll have run out and he doesn't have a dealer anymore. But for some reason, he can't find it in him to see it as all that much of a problem.

And God, it's only been a week since he met him, but Dean realizes that he would gladly trade out the joint in his hand to have Castiel sitting with him right now.


	3. Exactly like a date

Castiel never sees Dean at lunch.

He also generally hasn't thought about it much because he never saw him at lunch all year before he met him—so he simply figured that Dean just had a different lunch period. In the mornings they sometimes talk in the cafeteria now, as well as in the hallways or whenever else they happen to see each other, but it's most always under the bleachers with Castiel's homework spread out in front of him and Dean's fingers playing a practice tune on his guitar.

They've known each other for almost three weeks with the same routine—now with the occasional phone call added to that—and it seems that other people are starting to catch on. Not that either of them care. Took them all long enough, really.

While he's sitting at his usual lunch table with Balthazar, Zach, and Urie (all of whom he doesn't  _really_  like or talk to outside of school, but they're mildly tolerable when he feels like having company), Castiel is tapped on the shoulder and turns around to face a dark-skinned kid he doesn't think he's seen around more than once or twice.

"You're friends with Dean Winchester, right?" the guy asks, his voice coming out as amicable but with almost too much air in it.

"Uh... yes?" Castiel raises an eyebrow in curiosity and furtively glances at the rest of his table, who are undoubtedly listening. His heart skips a beat in sudden panic of whatever he's about to say next, which has a high potential of being something bad.

"Well, I just saw him going 'round the back of the school, and he looked upset—and as far as I can tell you're his only real friend, so I thought—"

"Wait, really?" He stands up too fast for his own good and nearly spills the bottle of water on the table. "Did he—was he crying or anything?"

"Kind of looked like it." The other guy shrugs. "You should probably go check on him."

So he does, and he leaves his lunch on the table and ignores Balthazar's shout of " _Better hurry and go rescue your boyfriend!_ " and immediately leaves the cafeteria to find the nearest exit of the school. It leads to the parking lot and Dean isn't in sight, so he keeps walking until he gets to the expanse of brick lined with a few dumpsters, and old metal doors in between them.

Leaning against the door is Dean, both legs out so that's he's holding himself up with the heels of his shoes, and a cigarette being transferred from his lips to his fingers. He notices Castiel and promptly blows smoke in the opposite direction.

"Cas—why're you out here?" By all means, he's not complaining. He's simply confused because he didn't expect his friend to ever come looking for him out here.

"I—" His reason suddenly slips his mind, and then he's just approaching him with his head tilted and his arms limp at his sides. "You skipped class to smoke?"

"Nah, I have lunch right now," Dean tells him, and with a slight expression to ask  _Did you really think I was that stupid?_  Well, he kind of is. But that's besides the point.

As best as he can put it, Castiel is  _confused_. "...You had lunch this period the whole time and didn't tell me?" he asks, squinting at Dean and not even refraining from putting a hand on his hip.

Dean almost looks offended. "I had no idea this was your lunch period, Cas—" He takes another short drag from the cigarette and exhales it out. "I've had lunch detention since the first week of school for cursing at a teacher. So  _actually_ , yeah, I'm kind of skipping. So sue me." An odd sort of twinkle reaches his eyes and he laughs, thinking of how rebellious Castiel is and how he seems to be adopting more of his friend's traits.

"Oh. Well." Castiel steps over and leans against the door on his side, shoulder pressing against metal through the fabric of his jacket. "Are, uh... you okay? Some guy told me he saw you looking upset going out here."

At that, Dean furrows his brow and takes the shrinking cigarette from his mouth and looks over to him with no explanation. "I'm completely fine other than a bit of stress, but—no, I'm not upset. Who even told you?"

"I don't know his name, but he was black and a little shorter than me." Castiel first thinks that it could just have been a misunderstanding, but the part of him that grew up with Gabriel tells him that there's some kind of scheme underneath. "I assumed he must know you if he knows we're friends—"

" _Shit_ _—_ " The word comes hissing out of Dean's mouth with smoke filtering from the space in between his teeth. He scowls and throws the cigarette on the ground to crush the flame with his shoe, then kicks the ash and wasted tobacco to the side where it won't be seen as easily. "That was probably Gordon. He has this... vendetta against me because of my relationship with Alastair and I would bet my  _car_  that he figured he could get us in trouble by sending you out here and then getting a teacher. Probably thought I'd be smoking pot out here, too."

As much as he should be thinking about immediately trying to leave the vicinity for fear of being caught, Castiel is instead focused on something less important—"So that was just a normal cigarette, then?"

"Yeah—I, uh..." Dean momentarily forgets about the danger and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "I ran out of pot. But honestly, it's—"

Just then, the metal doors they were leaning on open to reveal a man whose face seems to be permanently stuck in a twisted expression after years of being bitter and looking at students that way, and he doesn't say anything at first, but just eyes them suspiciously. His gaze falls to both their hands and pockets, undoubtedly searching for some proof that they'd been smoking, but finds nothing.

"What are you two doing out here?" he snarls, and Castiel has to fight back a laugh and a smirk. Insolence is simply in his nature, and he's always had a problem respecting authority. Dean, on the other hand, stands still and almost military-like, and there's a visible convulsion in his stomach from what seems to be anxiety.

"Just standing and talking," Castiel half-lies before Dean can say anything. His friend gives him a brief look as though surprised at how casually he can lie. "There's not a rule against that, is there?"

He still refrains from smirking but it's definitely evident in his voice, and the assistant principal is clearly even more frustrated now. That probably just got them in more trouble, but it's definitely worth the satisfaction.

"There's a rule against  _leaving the building without permission_ ," the man tells them with narrowed eyes and an obvious dislike for Castiel now, who before now had barely had a single scratch on his record. "Now get inside. You both have after-school detention for the remainder of the week and all of the next."

As they're ushered inside, Dean retorts with immediate indignance—"But I already have lunch detention—!"

"Yes, and you're currently  _ditching_  that detention, so you have no damn room to complain, Winchester."

He really coan't argue there. And after a moment's thought as well as a mutual shrug in each other's direction, the two boys decide that it's no more than a temporary change of venue for their time spent together after school, and therefore isn't really a punishment at all.

* * *

 

"I checked the fucking school rules and there's  _nothing_  about leaving the building without permission," Castiel mutters under his breath as he takes a seat next to Dean in the room they were told to go to after school. The textbook in his arm drops against the table with a resounding  _smack_  that's just a bit satisfying considering his frustration. Dean shifts in his chair and raises an eyebrow. "You just can't leave the campus without some good reason to—and that doesn't even count during lunch. We broke absolutely  _no_  rules."

"You sound disappointed by that," Dean can't help but smirk in spite of being fully aware of the situation and what all of that means.

Castiel purses his lips and then smiles, briefly forgetting about why he's so frustrated. Dean just has the kind of face that can make you forget things. "Well, a little bit. But—basically, we're in here for a week and a half not because we broke any rules—well, except for you ditching lunch detention—but because  _we were two boys standing out there alone_."

His voice became just slightly thicker with those last few words, and his jaw and chest tightens even more as he allows himself the courage to actually look over at Dean. Whose demeanor seems to be doing about the same thing, the freckles on his face blending in with his slowly reddening skin.

There's a quick bob of Dean's adam's apple in his throat and, as though he doesn't understand, he quirks an eyebrow and asks, "What d'you mean?"

They both know that Dean knows very well what he meant, but Castiel spells it out for him anyway because before now neither of them ever brought up something like... this. It feels like something that's weighed between them, in a way (which they both most certainly understand), and something that needs to be gotten out of the way or at least mentioned.

So he sighs and frowns and says, "If we were a boy and a girl standing out there, we would have been told to go back inside and that's it."

The word they're trying not to say out loud is  _gay_ _—_ the assistant principal thought that they were gay and doing gay things outside the school and he no doubt still believes they're gay. When Dean finally lets himself think the word directly instead of skirting around it even in his thoughts, it's hard to stop thinking about it and what Mr. Gad had imagined them doing and how Cas had clearly been thinking it too.

And then Dean is suddenly extremely grateful that the school never calls home about detentions because he doesn't want to imagine what his dad might say if Mr. Gad told him what he suspected.

Whether or not he and Castiel are actually like that, he chooses to avoid thinking about it.

Before either of them can say anything, a teacher (whom Dean is pretty well-acquainted with at this point) walks in and sits down at the desk, telling them immediately that "No talking is allowed. You may study for class, and that's it."

So they shuffle their chairs back to their original straightened positions and face forward, waiting for the teacher to call out names to make sure everyone on the list is there and not ditching. When she gets to Castiel Novak, though, she eyes his raised hand with something akin to malice.

"Mr. Gad told me he would like you and Dean to be separated, Ca—Mr. Novak," she tells him like she almost definitely knows.

His first thought is  _Come on, my name isn't that hard to pronounce._

And then he makes an internal outburst that he neglects to follow with an outward one, nodding stiffly and throwing Dean an apologetic look before grabbing his books and moving to another desk.

So it would be a whole week and a half of no guitar and no talking to each other after school.

 _Just fucking perfect,_  both Dean and Cas think angrily at the same time, both unaware that they shared a thought.

At least the both of them actually do have homework to do, so they aren't just left there with nothing left to do but stare wistfully at each other when the detention supervisor isn't working. Though several times in the middle of writing a first draft for an English essay, Dean does stare at Cas. Only when he's not looking, though. The moment Cas senses eyes on him and turns around, Dean averts his gaze and looks down.

They both ignore the exact implications of what they're doing. Well, Dean does, mostly. Castiel doesn't have much of a problem with repressing emotions.

Eventually, they risk throwing a ball of paper across the room for the other to straighten out and find a note—usually a comment about another student in the room or how stupid the teacher's hair looks today.

And it continues through the week, brief glances and short notes being their only communication other than right before and right after detention. But on Friday Castiel feels like it's simply a perfect day for blowing Michael off, and he's absolutely starving for some real conversation as well as the sight and sound of Dean playing his guitar again.

So on a balled-up note that he throws to Dean in the middle of Friday's detention is a suggestion in Castiel's oddly neat handwriting:  _We should get ice-cream after this. And then we can sit in a park so you can practice guitar. If you don't play every few days you'll start to go bad, you know._

It vaguely sounds like a date. Actually no—it sounds  _exactly_  like a date, right down to the fact that Cas most certainly did not have to ask him this way but chose to do so regardless. And Dean's immediate reaction isn't nervousness or fear, but instead a wide grin that he very briefly flashes toward Castiel's twinkle-eyed expression. Because hell  _yes_ , he would definitely love to have ice-cream and guitar practice with his best friend after such a long week.

He nods and tries not to smile for too long.

* * *

 

Neither of them have told their families about having detention for fear of getting retribution from their parents. Castiel would go against whatever grounding he might have gotten anyway, but he prefers not to be restricted at that level. The last time he was grounded, his television and music was all taken away, and if he can avoid having to take physical measures to get his things back, he will.

And of course John would be horribly relentless if he knew.

They leave the school at the same time that they normally do anyway, so there's no suspicion. But with their plans to go hang out longer, they can't just leave as soon as detention lets out—Castiel approaches Michael's car only to open the door, tell him to go home because he's going to go do something with a friend, and promptly walk away with a smirk. And on the way to driving them both to the nearest ice-cream place, Dean needs to stop at his house to let Sam know that he'll be out a little late. He seems pretty happy that he'll have more time with Lucifer without his big brother in the house.

"That's a pretty weird name," Castiel mentions with a frown when Dean tells him about it. "But also kind of cool."

"Yeah, you'd think that." Dean slams his door and forgets to put on his seatbelt before putting the car in drive, grimacing out the windshield. "But really, who the fuck names their kid  _Lucifer_? What kind of sicko thinks that they can name their kid after Satan and that they'll have a normal life?"

Castiel can see the heat rising in Dean's face and the stiffness in his chest, and he lets out a slightly worried huff but cracks a small smile to counter it. "You seem to take it pretty personally. I thought you weren't religious?"

"I'm  _not_ ," Dean insists, gripping the wheel tightly not doing a very good job at all of concealing his feelings. "I just... have trouble getting completely used to the kid. My dad doesn't want him over for a good reason."

"...Which is?" Dean has avoided telling him much about his brother other than the relationship he has with him. He hopes he isn't prying, but it simply doesn't seem like a question whose answer would be all that personal.

It takes a second for Dean to decide that Cas is someone he can trust with the information and that he really doesn't want to keep anything from him, anyway. So he tries to loosen his grip on the wheel and breathe properly. When they reach a red light, he pauses and opens his mouth.

"The kid's dad is the guy who was accused, but never convicted, of murdering our mom."

_Oh._

He's mentioned his mom and the circumstances of her death before, but Castiel wouldn't have ever expected that.

He sinks in his seat and frowns deeply and is silent for several seconds. And then, "I'm sorry I ever asked—"

"It's alright, Cas. I don't want you feeling bad for me, okay?" Dean briefly risks a crash and turns his head to give him a look that seems to mean he's making him promise.

The problem is that he does feel bad for his best friend and he can't stop that, and he'd like to just hug him if they weren't in a moving car, or pat his arm or something. Somehow he can't find the courage to, and he just nods and agrees to keep Dean happy.

This isn't quite what he expected on his first car ride with Dean. But it's quickly made up for by how interesting the interior of the impala is, and how it clearly hasn't been upgraded since it was made. Castiel isn't exactly a mechanic, but he can still appreciate a classic car like this. Especially when Dean's so passionate about it—he's told him that he cleans it every week and fixes it himself every time there's a problem. And he always has classic rock on the radio, but he seems to have forgotten to turn it on this time.

"...Is that a pipe?" Castiel narrows his eyes when he notices the solid-colored glass marijuana pipe sitting in the ashtray. And then he raises an eyebrow and cocks a smirk, tilting his head toward Dean just slightly.

"What—oh, yeah," he answers with only a bit of a falter, not exactly ashamed but somehow a little anxious about it with Cas. "I was, um. Smoking the last of my weed in my car last weekl. My dad was home at the time and I figured I should finish it off."

"Oh." Castiel sits in silence for several seconds, thinking and watching the buildings go by outside the window. "Do you plan on getting more? I mean, now that I got Alastair out of your life, you don't have a dealer..." He feels a little bad if only for cutting Dean from a possible supply. But then the guy just shrugs.

"Eh, I thought about it," Dean tells him, glancing in his direction for a moment. "But... weirdly enough, I don't really feel like I need it anymore. I don't know. I mean, I guess I was doing it because I was stressed. With school and family and all that shit. And now I'm less anxious about everything than I was before and I haven't gotten high nearly as much." He pauses for a good few seconds and tries not to look at Cas. "It was about the time I met you, actually."

They both have a good idea of what he's trying to say. The one in the passenger seat is probably more sure of it, even. His presence is like a medicine to him, and their friendship has already changed his life. Castiel smiles and doesn't say out loud that he feels the same.

When they get to the ice-cream place, Dean orders a scoop of chocolate and Cas immediately tells him he can get more if he wants because he's paying.

"Don't even think about arguing," he says when Dean opens his mouth, index finger up in the air. "You drove; I'll pay."

After almost a minute of indecisiveness, Dean finally says he'll have two scoops instead and Castiel asks for the same. The lady at the counter gives them a smile along with their cones, and they both have a feeling they know what she assumes of them. Neither of them make any effort to correct her in any way.

There's no way for them to sit so that it won't look like a date—or maybe Dean is just thinking too much about this feeling like a date. And then, as he sits down at a booth opposite to his friend, he keeps wondering whether he wants it to be one or not. He decides he won't say anything about it until the other boy does.

While they talk, Castiel tries to avoid looking Dean in the face when he's got ice-cream in his mouth so he doesn't end up blushing, and unbeknownst to him the same internal thought process is going on in the other side of the booth. And though he's clearly trying to avoid awkwardness the whole time, during a few seconds of silence in which he can't think of anything else to say, he asks—

"Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

It's a question marked with real curiosity and some kind of hope, and it puts a lump in Dean's throat that he tries to hide when he looks up. Quickly, he wipes the melted ice-cream off of his lips and tries desperately to soothe his suddenly erratic heartbeat.

"Uh—well, kinda." Blood rushes to his cheeks and he takes another bite of ice-cream in an attempt to lower the heat in his face. "I mean, I made out with a girl at a party and had a week-long thing with her until I decided that I didn't really like her that much. And I flirt with girls a lot but I've never had a real relationship with one." After several seconds it occurs to him that these kind of questions usually have follow-ups, so he raises both eyebrows and almost fails to keep his voice from cracking when he says "What about you?"

Castiel just shrugs, hoping that he doesn't look happy that Dean's never had a serious girlfriend. He is, but he obviously would rather Dean not know right now. "Nah. Though I did kiss a girl once. Actually, she kind of forced it on me, now that I think about it..." He frowns and remembers being drunk at a party and getting his first kiss from Meg, a girl he'd met that night. She's barely talked to him since, apart from vague flirting in the hallways despite the fact that she must know he doesn't even swing that way.

"That's actually really surprising," Dean says immediately, surprised at his own blunt honesty.

"Why?"

"Because... well, because you're a knockout, really." He once again is very surprised with himself but decides to ignore it. "And you're rich and rebellious and smart—you're just about everything that girls want."

"Yeah, well." Castiel takes a bite of ice-cream and gives another shrug, though unabashedly beaming at Dean's description of him. "Girls aren't what I want."

_Oh._

_So does this mean_ _—_ _?_

Dean decides not to say anything at all or to let himself think about how he's been thinking for the past year that he might also be... that way. On the other side of the table, Cas desperately wonders if he's been right in his assumption that Dean is.

It's a relief for the both of them when they leave and go to a park instead so one of them can practice guitar and the other can listen. They sit on a bench and don't talk about what Castiel said earlier, and Dean plays  _Livin' on a Prayer_  with a few mess-ups here and there, occasionally just starting over, especially when people at the park walk by. Castiel tells him to try to not be so self-conscious because he plays very well, and when Dean doesn't believe him he takes the guitar case and opens it and sets it on the ground by his side of the bench just to prove him wrong.

"You know, I've never even heard that song played with an acoustic," Cas tells him, leaning against the arm of the bench and stretching his legs out in front of him.

"You've never heard a lot of things," Dean smirks, and Cas agrees with a laugh.

A lot of the people who pass as Dean plays leave something in the empty guitar case. And after an hour, they check what he's made (Dean expecting almost nothing) and see that it's really not that bad at all.

"Hey, we should do this more often," Cas suggests, grinning and handing the twenty-one bucks to him. "Maybe you could even get a gig."

"Well, I don't think I'm  _that_  good just yet-"

"That's why you're practicing, isn't it?"

Cas's hand is on his back for about two seconds before they put away the guitar and walk back to the impala.

* * *

 

It's been almost three weeks since Castiel called Dean for the first time, and two days since the last call. So Castiel isn't necessarily surprised, even with the time, when his friend calls him at midnight in the middle of the week, but he is surprised that the voice he hears sounds broken and almost like he's been crying.

"Cas?"

"Dean?" He frowns and stands up urgently as though he can do something about whatever it is from his bedroom. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I—actually no, I'm not,  _shit_ _—_ can I come over? I'm sorry for asking, but I got in a fight with my dad and—"

"Yes," he says quickly. "You can always come over if you don't feel safe at your own place, Dean."

There's a moment of silence where Dean swallows a heavy lump in his throat. "Thanks so much, Cas—fuck, I need to hurry up. What's your address?"

It's across town but Dean wastes no time in getting in his car and speeding wherever he thinks he can get away with it. And he does. When he ends up in the rich neighborhood his friend lives in, he doesn't even need to look at the individual addresses because Castiel is sitting outside on his front porch, waiting for him.

He's arching his neck up and then standing when Dean slams the impala door shut, and it seems to be something that they both expect when he walks up to Castiel's house with his distressed gait and immediately hugs him. His arms are tight around Castiel's back and for a second he doesn't know what to do, but then he presses his cheek into Dean's and holds him just as tightly.

Michael is likely watching from the window and making his own judgments, but there's no way Castiel is pushing Dean away when he's like this. A minute seems to have passed when they start rocking in each other's arms just slightly, and only then does he step away at all.

"Come inside," he tells him, his hand still on Dean's arm. "You can tell me what happened."

He just sort of nods and seems vaguely out of it as he follows Cas inside, giving side-glances to the crosses that adorn just about every five square feet of wall and walking upstairs to his room with him. Dean's hair is a bit mussed but not from the hug—more from him having pulled on it a lot before driving here and running his hand through it on the way.

Michael and Anna are in the kitchen but they're paid no mind—whatever they might be thinking, Castiel couldn't give less of a shit. And Dean's too distressed to notice.

Once they're in his room, Castiel knocks the door shut with his hips and sits on the edge of his bed with a huff and a frown, gesturing for Dean to do the same.

They sit in silence for a few seconds before Castiel softens his expression and puts his hand on Dean's back. "You don't have to tell me exactly what happened if you don't want to."

And, of course, that's what prompts him into an explanation, leaning back into his friend's touch and rubbing vigorously at his face.

"It's, uh, probably gonna seem stupid," he says gruffly, and it's clear that he's spent a lot of time yelling tonight. There's a long pause as his pupils dart back and forth as though searching for a good way to say it. "...My dad found my little brother sleeping in the same bed with his friend Lucifer and got mad. And I mean—it's not just that he doesn't like the kid or that he didn't give him permission to have him over. He... he was  _really_  fucking angry, practically grabbing both of them right out of bed and throwing them apart and screaming at Lucifer to go home... and I  _know_  Lucifer was there because he doesn't feel safe in his own house either—but my dad doesn't fucking care, all he cares about was that his son was cuddling with another boy... So of course I fucking stand up to my dad, I tell him that it shouldn't be a big deal because they're just little kids and  _why should it fucking matter that they're both boys_ , and then he yelled at me and accused me of being 'a  _queer_ ,' and..."

He can't draw breath from his lungs anymore and so he just trails off with his mouth still open and trying to make noise but unable. And he's so desperately trying to not cry that his chest is shaking when he looks up at Cas, letting something new fall between them like some kind of unspoken secret.

Dean's so afraid, he's just so goddamn  _afraid_ because he doesn't know what he is but he knows that he wants his best friend to kiss him right now, and at the same time he wants to run away because he's terrified of what will happen to him when he goes home if he really is _a queer_. Sam's the favorite—Dad'll just forget about him cuddling with a boy. It wouldn't be surprising at all to find the two of them making out in his room a few years from now, and it would be equally unsurprising if John saw it and simply forgot about it.

But Dean... he's always been the burden on the family. He does nothing but make everyone else angry and now he's making his dad angry just by being who he is and not being a piece of shit like him. His dad will continue to care about this and most certainly won't choose to ignore it.

His hands blindly reach out for Castiel's shirt and all he does is hug him again because he's too scared to do more, but tighter yet and pushing his face into his friend's shirt. And arms wrap tightly around his waist and then there's lips pressing against his hairline and he wants to cry even more now. There's a whisper of "I'm so sorry, Dean. You're always welcome here, you know. I'll make sure of it."

It's exactly what Dean needs. And he gives up trying to insist that Cas doesn't need to do that for him or that he doesn't deserve it.

Because he recognizes that he really  _needs_  it.

Just the way that he needs Castiel to pull them both down so that they're lying on his bed, and how he needs for them to wrap each other up and warm hands on his face. Somehow he vaguely thinks to kick his shoes off when they pull themselves up to the pillows, and as Castiel lies on his back, Dean's hand finds his heart and stays there, feeling it beat at a concerned pace under his fingers.

If this was any other situation, Castiel would be making some kind of move. He'd be too happy about finally having him in his bed to resist kissing him. But Dean is distressed and needs to feel respected and loved and safe, so he decides, resolutely,  _some other time_. He keeps his arms around him and tries not to look at him with pity. He knows Dean doesn't want to be pitied.

"Cas?" he eventually whispers. It's like the questioning greeting from earlier, but lower.

"Dean?"

"I'm gonna sleep."

"Good, you need it. We both do."

"Just. Don't let go of me, okay? I promise I won't kick you off of me in the morning."

The slight tone of joking in Dean's tone makes Castiel smile, but then he kisses Dean's hair and runs a hand softly down his back.

"I promise I won't," comes his gravelly voice, now lower as well.

They fall asleep in such a position that John Winchester would likely have some kind of seizure if he saw them.


	4. You're not poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry about how long this took, but I had a lot of mental health issues going on that kept me from being able to focus long enough to get any writing done. What matters is that it's done now, and there's only one more chapter to go!

There's a wet spot on Castiel's shirt where Dean has been drooling in his sleep all night, and when he wakes up and realizes it, his first thought is one of extreme embarrassment and hope that his best friend doesn't notice and find him gross.

His second thought is that his head is still resting on Cas's chest, they're still lying on his bed together, and there are still arms around his back. It's not alarming so much as it is the exact opposite—relieving. Dean isn't anxious to find himself here, nor is he at all ashamed. Cas's chest is warm and he's never felt safer in his life.

His third thought is that there's no doubt whatsoever that he is really,  _really_  queer. Straight guys don't cuddle like this. Straight guys don't talk the way Dean and Castiel do, not even just best friends. And though he was arguably doing it more for weed than anything, straight guys usually aren't willing to suck the dick of a guy they don't even like.

His father would undoubtedly shit his pants at a sight like this. Dean can't gauge how that makes him feel, especially not while he's still tired like this. At least there's virtually no way for him to know, so fear can be crossed off the list.

Dean leans on his elbow and pushes himself up, one forearm still resting on Cas's chest as he screws up his expression and furiously rubs crust out of his eyes until he's fully awake. Well, perhaps not fully—but enough that he can rationalize. And even when he's suddenly significantly more conscious, most of his thoughts are about how much he'd like to just lie back down and stay like that. Or vaguely about how he wants to pull himself up a bit until he's hovering right over Cas's face and lean down and—

" _Morning_ _—_ " grumbles out the already gravelly voice of the boy beneath him, just as Dean's beginning to act on his thoughts and is hovering over him. It's accompanied with a deep yawn and then a sleepy smile, and Dean's heart gives a single, deafening pound in simultaneous disappointment and relief.

Of course, his chance is still there. They're both awake now and Dean barely has to make an effort just to drop and connect their lips, but now that Cas is looking straight at him, it's so much more difficult. So he licks his lips and desperately considers doing it, but then simply says, "We should probably get ready for school."

There's a hint of expectation and then disappointment in Castiel's eyes, but he verbally agrees that yeah, they should. Dean is still mostly on top of him, though. So he doesn't fear for a single second that last night meant nothing or that it was just a crack in Dean's shell that is patched up now and which they'll never speak of again.

His friend is scared, and he understands. He respects that because he knows what Dean has been through, and so he doesn't grab Dean by the collar and pull him down for a kiss or anything of the sort. Instead, Castiel runs a hand through his extremely messy hair and slowly sits up, giving Dean room to sit up with him, and puts a calm hand on the muscle in between the other boy's neck and shoulder.

"You okay now?"

He catches his friend's gaze again and finds pure concern in it. Dean knows that he's a little nervous about going back home, but essentially, he's fine. He's far from another breakdown.

"Yeah." He smiles so that wrinkles appear on the sides of his eyes and leans forward for a thankful hug. Inhaling sharply and deeply, he eventually gives Cas's back a quick rub and then lets go, promptly shimmying out of the blankets and off the bed. "Mind if I borrow one of your shirts to change into after I take a shower?"

Castiel is still sitting in the bed, and it takes him a moment of staring at Dean to register what he had asked, and subsequently for him to push himself out of bed and walk over to his closet.

"Oh, uh—yeah," he says, finding the most Dean-like shirt he owns and handing it to him. "I hope it's not too tight." That's a lie. He definitely hopes that it's too tight. "I figure you'll probably want clean underwear, too—" So he takes a few strides to the dresser and pulls out boxers that he thinks will fit Dean fine (they fit  _him_ , and there's not much of a size difference, so) and tosses those to him as well.

Dean gives him a brief smile before hastening to get to the shower.

It's much nicer than the one he has at home, so he takes his time. But then he also tries not to take too long because of course Cas will want to take a shower too, and they need to get to school on time. If only to avoid more trouble—not so much because he cares about his education or anything.

He also tries desperately not to stand where the water will go directly onto his dick because that added onto all the surrounding circumstances will surely give him a boner, and that is the last thing he needs. Though that becomes slightly more difficult once he steps out and puts on the underwear Cas is lending him, as the thighs fit fine but the crotch is fairly loose.

So—

Cas definitely has a huge dick.

He tries not to think about it.

* * *

Everything seems to go almost entirely back to normal once they're back at school that day and in their respective classes. Though Dean might say that he's thinking about Cas more often now—if his friend hadn't already been consistently on his mind, that is. He supposes the way he's thinking about him, however, is slightly different than before.

It's with slightly less fear and hesitation. It's with more determination to actually get what he wants, and to figure out exactly what it  _is_  that he wants. It's been changed with the experience of being in Castiel's bed and his arms and with his emotions out in the open and vulnerable. It's with much more confidence that his friend will never take his feelings apart or see his heart bared and promptly break it.

Dean offers to start driving him home everyday and gets a toothy smile in return, an excited Cas running over to his brother's car and telling him he doesn't need him for rides anymore and undoubtedly risking assumptions about their relationship.

Cas has always seemed to be so brave about this sort of thing, and Dean doesn't know whether to admire that quality in him or be afraid for his recklessness. His own father isn't even religious—he's just obsessed with the concept of traditional masculinity. That's what he believes in and that's why he cares about whether his sons—mostly Dean—are  _queer_  or not. Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Novak love Jesus more than their children and for that reason don't approve of rock music or piercings or tattoos, so there's absolutely no way that they haven't preached that " _one man one woman_ " shit to their kids.

So does Cas just not care? He never talks about it. He never seems afraid to bring Dean into his home, and Dean can only guess that he never intended to have him sleep anywhere but on the bed next to him. Maybe he always assumed they would end up curled up in each other even in times of no emotional distress. Maybe he's absolutely and stupidly fearless.

Dean figures he's either confident for whatever reason that he won't be kicked out or sent to Catholic school or anything like that, or he  _wants_  to be kicked out. Or he wants a threat of being disowned and subsequently an excuse to leave his home. He wouldn't be surprised if those are Cas's motives—his rebellious lifestyle just looks like it's working in that direction. Self-destruction, that is. Where he plans to go if he gets kicked out, Dean has no idea, but he decides right then that he'll let him sleep in his room if there's no other way. John won't have to know.

And then once he drops Cas off at his house and pats him on the arm goodbye, he decides that he ought to stop thinking about this until he works his stress levels too high again. He'll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

There's no one home when he gets there. Dean has a fleeting worry that Sam has decided to run away (it's happened before, after all), but then he checks his little brother's room and finds it mostly clean and nothing apparently missing. A year ago when Sam actually tried to just leave by himself (and Dean still can't blame him, honestly), he had his backpack full of clothes and food and money. He's just not the kind of kid to leave with nothing—he's too smart for that.

An hour or so later when Dean is having a beer and vaguely practicing with his guitar—figured he might as well with no one home—the screen door opens and falls shut, and his younger brother's voice says with some amount of contempt, "Where'd you go last night?"

He sets the guitar down, takes a swig of beer, and turns around. Sam lets his backpack roll off his shoulder and frowns, looking more tired than anything. Dean has always been pretty concerned about how at age  _twelve_  his brother already manages to look like a tired old man at times. Then again he supposes that that's just how it is, living with a father like theirs.

"A friend's house," he answers with one breath, and he can tell that Sam knows that's not the whole truth. He doesn't say anything, though. "I couldn't—I'm sorry, Sam, okay? I should've stayed to make sure you didn't get hurt but I got scared."

Sam is silent for several seconds, eyes staring straight ahead, before he walks around to the front of the couch and sits with him. "... _You_  get scared?"

For a moment, Dean is struck with how highly Sam must think of him. Despite how he's always purposely tried to come off that way, it never occurred to him that his little brother would just think of him as some fearless guardian. He guesses it's time to dispel that false image and for Sam to think a bit less of him. He can handle it.

"Well, yeah," he says, grimacing. "I don't want to be, but I'm scared of Dad sometimes. He's bigger than me and he doesn't like a lot of the things that I do."

"He doesn't like  _anything_  that I do," Sam adds. He gives an ironic smile for a fleeting moment.

"He just doesn't understand." Dean turns a bit more to face him, wanting to reassure him. He doesn't want his brother to feel as lowly of himself as he does. "But you're still his favorite, you know that? You don't have to be afraid of him because you're more important to him than I am. He's not going to hit you without being  _balls_  drunk and he's not going to kick you out—"

"That doesn't make me feel any more special." Sam scowls for a second and folds his arms. "Dad doesn't do  _anything_  to make me feel special—all he does is make me feel like a freak." For a split second, he throws a slightly accusing look at Dean, as though telling him that sometimes  _he_  makes him feel that way, too. Dean is aware of it and feels horribly sorry. "...Lucifer makes me feel special."

He looks afraid that his older brother is about to tell him not to hang out with that kid, hesitant to say anymore and almost like he's regretting having said anything. But honestly, Sam's friend is starting to grow on him, at least in theory.

So he smiles. "Yeah?"

Relief washes through Sam's expression and he's suddenly visibly much happier, even sitting up a bit straighter on the couch. "Yeah. He hugs me all the time and he told me that... um, I'm the only one who understands him." There's something else he's not saying, out of awkwardness and fear of embarrassment, something along the lines of ' _that I'm the most beautiful person he's ever met_.'

"That's good," Dean tells him, giving Sam a brotherly pat on the back and standing up to go throw away his empty beer bottle. "Stay with someone who makes you feel special, no matter what anyone else says."

Sam's beaming when he sits down, and when he grabs his guitar again—

"Can you play Stairway to Heaven?"

That's... unexpected. Sam hasn't ever requested a song from him before. Sam hasn't ever really cared all that much about music in general, now that he thinks about it.

Dean pauses for a moment and turns his head to his brother with his body and arms and the guitar still straight. "Nah, it's really fuckin' long. Haven't learned it yet. Since when do you even like the song?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

Sam's face reddens a bit and he stammers for a moment before telling him that "Lucifer really likes it."

Ah. He really likes that kid, doesn't he?

Dean still can't trust him entirely—his dad  _killed_  their mom, for fuck's sake (and he's a bit weird in general)—but Lucifer has shown absolutely no signs of hurting Sam either emotionally or physically. His brother is visibly happier around him and when he talks about him. So Dean should just let him do whatever until extraneous circumstances give him a reason not to.

He supposes a lot of people wouldn't trust Cas to be such good friends with him, either.

"Is he a fan of Led Zeppelin?" he asks, absentmindedly picking at a couple of the guitar strings and then slapping them down silent.

"He listens to a lot of old music," Sam shrugs. He doesn't pay much attention to the names of bands unless Lucifer is telling him. Or Dean, sometimes. "Kind of like you."

"Hm. Well. I do know how to play  _one_  song by Led Zeppelin...  _Ramble On_. Then maybe you can go tell Lucifer that your big brother can play that and he'll be impressed with me."

Dean is pretty obviously trying to be nicer about his best friend, and for that Sam is honestly very grateful. He smiles and nods. "Yeah, sure."

* * *

Christmas vacation is around the corner and it's no longer optimal to sit underneath the bleachers after school, now that there's snow on the ground most days. Dean and Cas would prefer that their asses don't  _literally_  freeze off, so they drive to Cas's house or to a park for guitar practice and hanging out a lot.

They haven't talked about the night they spent together (neither of them see much of a reason to), but the air of interaction around them has definitely changed, if only slightly. They're softer, closer. And slightly more afraid on Dean's side, as though facing an impending doom and trying to ignore it.

It's nice, just staying in the cold, though. Dean plays off the closeness as needing more warmth, which makes it much easier to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with Cas when he's not holding a guitar, and for him to hug him goodbye almost every day when he leaves his house and returns to his own.

It makes it easier to look at each other and smile because they can simply say that they both look fucking ridiculous with all the layers and hats on and it's just too easy to laugh.

It makes it easier to get away with touches, as Dean can say "It's so fucking cold I can't feel my face," and neither of them will feel weird about Cas leaning over and grinning mischievously and rubbing Dean's cheeks vigorously with both hands. It'll be cold enough that Dean's hands stiffen too badly for him to play guitar and Cas can just warm them up in his own.

Lately they've taken a lot of days to go get coffee or hot chocolate together in order to battle the cold, enjoying the warmth of the interior of the shops around them and the ceramic mugs in their hands. Dean is extremely conscious of the fact that they all look like dates. Cas completely intends them all to be dates.

When he actually does play his guitar, though, Cas listens even closer than usual. Because now he recognizes strings of notes that he in fact does not recognize—as in, new ones.

"Learning a new song?" he asks when he catches on, vaguely proud of himself, as he never exactly had any training with music.

Dean's eyes dart up to him a bit too quickly, green flashing in something that looks like brief panic and his breath visibly catching where he momentarily stopped breathing. And then his shoulders and chest relax some before his reaction is too noticeable, his fingers silently and softly dancing on the strings on the guitar's neck.

"Uh—yeah," he says with a bit of a breath, partially so he can watch the frost in the air around it. "Figured it's time for a new one."

"What is it?"

That, Dean was fully expecting to hear, but he still doesn't have an immediate answer without leaving his mouth open in nervous silence for a second first. "Uh... it's a surprise, alright?"

Cas's lips pull themselves into a smirk at once, absolutely sure that Dean's probably learning something from a band that he's ashamed to admit he's a fan of.

"Am I allowed to guess?"

At that, Dean can't help but smile for a moment in irony, and then he exhales and strikes a short chord on the guitar and turns his head to face Castiel completely.

"Tell you what—if you can guess what song I'm practicing before Christmas break, I'll... I'll let you come over to my house. Deal?"

His smirk stretching into a toothy grin, Cas takes Dean's hand in a tight grip and gives him a mock-professional handshake. "You got yourself a deal, cowboy."

"Don't call me a cowboy."

Cas doesn't stop grinning.

* * *

Cas has been asking to visit for a while, and he  _does_ understand why Dean has yet to say yes, but it's still frustrating. He doesn't see how coming over for an hour or so before his abusive drunk of a father gets home will hurt, and he honestly does not care at all how shabby Dean's house might be. Some of the other kids at school, especially the group he hangs out with (or used to, really) would care, yeah, but he's not like that. He wants to see his friend's home because it's  _Dean_ , not because he wants to see how nice and well-kept it is.

It's just odd to him that he's seen Dean's passion and his soul and all his emotions, bared and open for no one but him, but not his house from the inside.

So naturally he tries very hard to listen to the chords and find patterns that he recognizes from the sort of music that Dean generally listens to—and for the most part, he fails. Every time he thinks he might know it because of a short chord progression, Dean shoots him down.

The week seems to go by too quickly.

Desperation claws at him both for the possibility of the prize Dean offered and just for the sake of figuring it out—Castiel has always been fairly competitive and determined in things like this.

"Can you give me a hint?" he asks about twice a day, usually from some overly-dramatic and exasperated position. To which Dean always responds with "no" or "nope" or "have you given up yet?" And subsequently, to which Cas whines like a five year-old.

Honestly, it just sounds like Dean is pulling new chords out of his ass everyday and constantly changing it up. Nothing sounds the same and Castiel gives up trying to follow along by the time they've reached the end of Friday—the beginning of the break.

"Alright, you beat me," he sighs, leaning on the hood of Dean's car as he's putting the case away and folding his arms. "Are you even close to finishing, though?"

"Eh, I've learned about... half of it," Dean tells him with a very slight tremor in his smile. "I should be finished sometime during the break, probably."

"Can you just make it my Christmas present, then?"

Oh—shit. Dean almost forgot about Christmas entirely. Then again, it never usually crosses his mind much. He hasn't had many good Christmases.

He pauses for a minute and doesn't look at Cas again until the trunk is closed. "You don't want something more special? You listen to me play guitar every day."

"You said it was a surprise, though." The car stands between them now, Dean's stiff hands gripping the metal on the edge of the impala's trunk, and Cas dipping into the space between the hood and the windshield, arm propped up on the wet roof. "So I can only assume it's at least  _kind of_  for me. Besides, I like listening to you play. Don't you dare go spend money on me, Winchester."

Dean appreciates that he only indirectly mentioned his lack of funds to buy a present for him, and he supposes that it is  _extremely_  fair, considering the nature of the song he's learning and all. But of course Cas doesn't know what it is yet, so really it's just lucky that things turned out this way. Except he would be learning the song regardless of what time of year it is, and he still has his pride, so Dean still wants to buy him something just to show that he  _can_. But... promises.

"Fine," he grins, stepping up to open the car door and shooing Cas out of the way to the other side. "Don't go spending too much money on me, either."

* * *

Christmas day is radically boring and a very religious experience at the Novak house. At least in the morning—church, prayers, and whatever other Jesus stuff Castiel's parents want him to do. And then it's family members visiting from all over who want to talk to him constantly, aunts pinching his cheeks and telling him how much he's grown since they last saw him (no more than an inch, really) and asking when he's going to bring a nice young lady home.

To which he always gives a curt smile and says that he doesn't have a girlfriend, hoping simultaneously that they get the hint and that they still have no idea. He wishes he could bring Dean over for the Christmas dinner, as he's sure that Anna is bringing her boyfriend and Gabriel will probably be crashing the party with a girl on each arm—and he has no idea if Michael has a girlfriend, but if he does and she doesn't have any other engagements then he'll bring her too. But that would be a bit too over the top and pushing rebelliousness straight into a shouting match with his family.

Preferring men isn't part of his rebellious stance, but it's a great bonus. Congratulations, your son doesn't give a shit about your fucking Bible, he has tattoos and piercings, he listens to "the Devil's music,"  _and_  he's a huge homosexual. How would  _that_  be for a punch straight to his father's pretentious face?

It would be a punch that gets him kicked out, probably. Castiel may love the shock factor and get his kicks from doing things his parents hate, and he does want to just have Dean on his arm so everyone can stare and see how much he doesn't care what they think, but he's also terrified. Because he  _does_  care—though only in the sense that what other people think can affect his own (and Dean's) safety.

At some point he's so sick of being hassled by family he doesn't like and standing around in an itchy suit that he figures  _fuck it_ , and just sneaks out through the garage (he'd use his bedroom window but there's really no way for him to climb down). But, of course, not before changing into jeans and a comfortable jacket, dumping a plate full of Christmas cookies into a tupperware container, and grabbing the small wrapped package from his bed.

About an hour-long walk later, Cas arrives on Dean's porch sweating from the inside of his jacket and can feel it freezing on his skin. He decides that that is his least favorite thing about the human body and hopes that Dean will let him stay for just a little while, if only to warm up properly.

Setting down his things on one of the porch chairs, he knocks and waits, and he can almost sense the curiosity of  _who could that possibly be_  on the other side of the door.

It swings open to reveal Dean, who has an unopened beer in one hand and mild surprise on his face.

Cas smiles. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry—wait—how'd you get here?"

"I walked. My family's Christmas gathering is fucking boring and I needed to give you your present, so I snuck out." With that, he picks up both boxes from the chair and adds, "I also brought cookies, if you want any."

Dean stares at him with a mixture of amusement and awe, half-leaning on the edge of the doorway, for several seconds before exhaling a single, heavy breath and reaching forward to pull Cas in by the shoulder. "Come on in, then."

It's empty but for Dean and whom he can only assume is his little brother. He figures that's a relief, but it's also probably the only reason Dean wasn't extremely hesitant to let him in.

"Is your dad not home?"

"He has to work on Christmas, thank God—"

"Dean, who's that?"

They both turn around to Sam, who's sitting on his knees on the couch and bent over the back of it. It then occurs to the two older boys that Dean has never talked about Cas at home, though neither of them feel odd about it because the reason for it is obvious.

"I'm Castiel, Dean's friend," he says before Dean can. He shrugs off his jacket and walks over to shake the young boy's hand, figuring that he should make a good impression on Dean's family. He'd like his little brother to like him, at least.

"Call him Cas," Dean adds, as though giving permission. He  _is_  the only one who's used that nickname with him before, after all.

Sam is particularly excited about the cookies that Dean's friend bought, so he lets him have most of them. He'll probably get sick with how many he ate, but at least he's happy for the time being.

Meanwhile, Cas notices how Dean seems to care more about Sam's happiness than his own, and he doesn't know whether to find that admirable or sad. It takes him a while, however, to notice that there isn't a tree in their house and only minimal decorations. He decides not to comment on it.

At some point Sam asks if he can take the remaining cookies to Lucifer's house and Dean thinks that kid deserves a treat too, so why not. And it gets Sam out of the house so he and Cas are completely alone, anyway.

The moment the door shuts, his heart starts hammering in his chest. Luckily Cas is the first one to speak—

"So did you finish learning the song yet?"

Caught off guard, Dean can only stare blankly for a moment before remembering that he said he would learn it during the break. And then his pupils shrink and his chest recedes with an exhaled breath, calming him down but making him feel slightly guilty.

"Uh—no. Not yet, sorry. I should by the time school starts back up, though—"

"That's fine," Cas assures him, a brief hand reaching out to Dean's arm. "I wanted to give you my present first, anyway—here."

Dean holds the small box with irrational trepidation, his mind immediately jumping to jewelry and then jumping back because he doesn't want to get his hopes up—and then all over the place because he didn't know that he was hoping for jewelry until just now. Of course Cas wouldn't get him a ring (what would it even be for?), but that would make more sense than a necklace, and the box is small enough that he can't think of anything else it might hold.

Finally he rips back the snowflake-patterned wrapping paper and finds a flat, square wooden box underneath. There's a slight carved edging pattern but no label otherwise, and a small clasp that takes him a moment to open with his lack of proper fingernails. He really needs to stop chewing them.

"Guitar picks," he says quietly, almost questioningly, as he tips the hinges back and opens the box. Three of them. Lined up in the inside velvet the same way that rings are kept, like a small treasure. Carefully, he picks each of them out and turns them around in his fingers, noticing the quality and the band names printed on each individual one— _Pink Floyd_ ,  _ACDC_ ,  _Guns n' Roses_.

"I know you usually play with your hands, but I thought you could use them," says Castiel's voice from what feels like a distance, though that's really just a side-effect of Dean's awe. He's still right there. "Or just have them. I found them in a guitar shop in downtown Lawrence and—"

Dean closes the case soon after Cas starts talking and shuts him up with a crushing hug, gratitude seeping through the arms he throws around his back. Their cheeks rub together when he pulls away and he can feel Cas's stubble scraping across his mostly smooth face. Fear holds him back from surging back forward, though, and he hates that it does. But he can still smile and hold his friend by the shoulders.

"I fucking love it, Cas."

* * *

"I have a confession to make."

It's not cold enough today for Dean's breath to make frost in the air, but his voice hits it and hundreds of feet away a small flock of birds caws as though it's cause and effect. They're sitting on the bleachers because the grass is too wet, in the middle of one of the aisles so that they have more room.

"You didn't finish learning the song yet?" Cas guesses, raising an eyebrow curiously. It's a serious guess and he wouldn't necessarily mind.

"What—no, I mean—I did." Dean sighs and briefly keeps his eyes locked on the guitar pick in his hand while he tries to draw up his courage. "I wrote the song."

A small frown tugs on Cas's face, though not one that looks much different than his normal face. "What?"

"I wrote it. The song I was learning—I wrote all the lyrics and the chords by myself. That's what I'm confessing."

For a moment he's panicking terribly, but then all that comes out of Cas's mouth is "Fucking hell, I should have  _noticed_ , you goddamn cheater." He's not angry, though—he's grinning and rubbing one hand down his face and letting out a short laugh. "I mean, I got to go to your house anyway, so it doesn't matter. ...Did you think I would care?"

Dean gives another exasperated sigh and works his mouth and his hands to try to find a good way to say it—"Well, no—but—that's not all of it." Their eyes catch and everything falls completely silent but for Dean's heart. Or at least  _he_  can hear it, much louder than it should be. He takes a breath and tries to calm down. "I... uh. I wrote it about you."

The next several seconds are very quiet.

"Oh."

"I hope that's not weird."

"No, it's—it's really not. It's fine. And it makes it a better present, doesn't it?"

Cas's smile is comforting and it calms him down a bit, but his hands are still shaking.

"...Are you gonna play it?"

Fuck, he almost forgot. "Oh—yeah, I guess I'll do that," he laughs nervously.

He has to focus quite a bit on breathing evenly and calming down before placing his hands back on the guitar, at which he then takes them back off and shakes them out. What he doesn't know at all is that Cas is having just as hard of a time breathing properly and forcing his heartbeat down to a healthy rate.

"It's called  _Angeles_ ," he tells him before giving one final exhale and putting his pick to a string, pulling a couple test chords to get started.

Cas watches him even more intently than he normally does, noticing how Dean's fingers tense up with notes that he wrote himself, pausing here and there in the beginning as he starts slow and nervous. And then it gets smoother, more confident, and he can see a tiny smile on Dean's lips when he finally starts singing.

 

_Someone's always coming around here_  
 _Trailing some new kill_  
 _Says "I've seen your picture on a_  
 _Hundred-dollar bill"_  
 _What's a game of chance to you,  
_ _To him is one of real skill_

_So glad to meet you, Angeles_

_Picking up the ticket shows there's_  
 _Money to be made_  
 _Go on, lose the gamble, that's the_  
 _History of the trade_  
 _Did you add up all the cards left to play  
_ _To zero_

_And sign up with evil, Angeles?_

_Don't start me trying now  
_ _'Cause I'm all over it, Angeles_

_I can make you satisfied in_  
 _Everything you do_  
 _All your secret wishes could right_  
 _Now be coming true_  
 _And be forever with my poison arms  
_ _Around you_

_No one's gonna fool around with us_  
 _No one's gonna fool around with us  
_ _So glad to meet you, Angeles._

 

Dean's voice has stopped shaking by the end, but once he gets to his last note his hands are shaking again, just slightly. And then the context of everything he just told Cas through that song occurs to him and his chest feels like it might implode, but he welcomes it. He did it, it's done, and he can't take it back now. So he forces himself to look at Cas's face.

It's oddly calm but for the trembling smile stretching his lips, and Dean can tell that the look in his eyes is genuinely grateful and happy, but he doesn't say anything at first.

And when he does, it's "Why do you call your arms  _poison_?"

He takes that as an _I understood your intent with that song completely_  and feels significantly better for a moment. But then a moment later there's a rush of sadness and inadequacy as he has to explain those exact feelings.

"I... well," he starts, slowly. "I've always felt like I break everything I touch. I mean, my family's broken,  _I'm_  pretty broken... I can't do shit for shit but play guitar and fix cars. I just... um. I guess I don't know if I'm what's best for you. But I'd like to be."

Cas's eyebrows tilt up in brief concern, and Dean is somewhat worried until he inches forward and takes the guitar from his arms and sets it on one of the bleachers to the side.

Then there's an arm snaking around his shoulders and a smooth hand firmly gripping his face and Cas's eyes only inches from his.

"You're not poison, Dean," he tells him quietly, and he can feel Cas's breath on his lips before he pulls his face forward.

Dean's hand is halfway up to come to the back of Cas's head when he kisses him, and then it's stuck there until he gets over the initial euphoria that fills him to the brim with the urge to tell Cas that he loves him—to shout it from the rooftops. And then he finally slides his fingers through his hair like he's wanted to do so badly for weeks now. He's wanted to do a  _lot_  of things for a long time and doesn't have to repress it anymore.

Emotions overwhelm him until Dean feels the urge to cry coming on, and a very soft moan exits his throat to make up for it. Immediately after, Cas pulls his lips half an inch away in concern.

"Is this okay?"

For a second it baffles Dean that he even has to ask that. And then he grins and puts the hand he hasn't been using around Cas's lower back, darting his lips forward for a quick peck.

" _Everything_  is okay," he mutters straight into Cas's lips, kissing him again and taking much more direct action this time. He leads it, working the other boy's mouth just slightly open and still smiling into his mouth.

There's nothing to fear in him anymore—Dean knows what he wants, and he knows what Cas wants, and he knows that it doesn't fucking matter what his dad thinks because he's not afraid of him anymore. And he knows he doesn't have to question whatever the fuck his sexuality is because it doesn't matter—he definitely likes looking at girls, or at least he used to because for the past few months the only thing that's been on his mind is Cas.

So gay, straight, bisexual, just plain fucking queer, whatever—he's queer for Cas. He is  _so_  fucking queer for Cas and that's all he needs to know.

And they just keep on kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the song Dean sings is a real song. And yes, I based this entire fic off of it because Jensen sang it once. It was written in 1997 by Elliott Smith, but maybe Dean meets him and shows him the song and sells the rights to him? I'll go with the fact that I have creative license to put the song in there regardless.


	5. Closing Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, at the end. This is a love story I really enjoyed writing, and I hope it's the kind of thing that'll stick in your minds for a long time. 
> 
> More importantly, I made a soundtrack to go along with the fic, consisting mostly of songs that were played or at least mentioned at some point in the fic. I figured it was the thing to do, considering the nature of the story.
> 
> http://8tracks.com/captainlucifer/angeles

The year is 1996 and most people don't particularly approve of certain bedroom activities when both partners possess the same genitalia.

For years this has been a crippling fact to both Dean and Castiel's psyches, but they both recently adopted a new mindset by the name of " _Fuck it_."

It's the middle of February and Dean has finally let Cas come not only into his house but into his room, and subsequently into his bed. John won't be home for hours and Dean has finally stopped worrying over the impossible circumstance of him coming home early. He's also stopped worrying about what his boyfriend thinks of him based on his shitty house for the most part—though you can't just knock down all his insecurities at once. No matter how much Cas wants to.

Both of their backpacks are tipped over on the floor, papers and books spilling out if not strewn around from where they both originally tried to get some homework done together and then simply pushed off the bed to make room for more important things. They couldn't care less if those papers are lost forever, and of course the math problems they'd been going over are no longer on their mind. Or anywhere close.

Cas is much more focused on the way the curve of his spine is pressed into the wall, and the way the entire left side of him is pressed into Dean's springy bed, and of course the way Dean is pressed into  _him_. It's a small bed, only meant for one person if even that, so there isn't much room unless they lie directly next to each other—which is just perfect. It's perfect for Dean's fingers to curl themselves in Castiel's belt loops and pull him closer by the hips, denim rubbing on denim and the metal of their buttons clinking together.

Dean's lips are probably the softest he's ever seen, even more than any girls', but it doesn't feel at all like kissing a girl. Of course the only girl Cas has ever kissed was Meg, but he still remembers it and it didn't feel anything like this. Dean feels like something that flows perfectly but still has edges like rocks that keep it interesting—his jawline and his hips stick out like things for Cas to grab onto and use to steer himself. And being the more inexperienced one out of them, Dean begs to be steered.

But he steers Cas too, he digs his fingers into Cas's thighs and ruts himself forward, and he pushes his tongue so deep that Cas can't think of anything else to do but suck on it. Which leaves him in a state of disheveledness that's infinitely more arousing and which has Cas's hand creeping around Dean's leg to the space in between them, cupping his groin and kneading it and it's all laced with the smirk that he makes into Dean's mouth.

For the smallest moment, there's an impulse in Dean's neck that pulls him away from the other boy's face, and he gasps just slightly, breath catching in the back of his throat at the unexpected pressure. He's never had anyone's hands but his own down there, and it's terribly new and surprising, but he finds himself completely ready for it. So he doesn't give Cas time to give him a concerned look and instead promptly darts forward again, matching Cas's smirk and pressing his hips forward to increase the pressure on his own.

Cas gets the idea and arches up to make room so he can unzip Dean's pants, and he decides halfway through that the most efficient way to do this would be to push Dean onto his back. Which he does.

And then it's about time that Dean actually moans louder than those tiny groans from the back of his throat—which he does. His eyes shoot open and there's Cas halfway on top of him for a split second before he slides off, a hand getting his pants zipper down all the way and then tugging the pants themselves down past his boxers. Cas doesn't hesitate much at all to shove his hand directly past Dean's waistband and grab his dick, at which Dean's chest heaves with surprise and a very breathy " _Cas_ _—_ "

Which is then muffled by Cas's mouth on his again. One of his arms is awkwardly bent up over Dean's pillow so he can fist his hair with one hand and fist his cock with the other, keeping Dean's head lolled to the side while he kisses him and making no effort to push his hips down while he strokes him.

At some point their lips break apart and Dean's moaning Cas's name, letting one arm come up to grab his hair and the other one just sitting at his side with nothing to do. He tries to keep quiet in case Sam is home (wouldn't want to scar his little brother for life, even if there's a good chance Sam would have no idea what he's even hearing), but then Cas decides to be cruel and lower his mouth to Dean's neck instead. His voice then reaches notes that he never thought were possible from him.

Both of them think simultaneously that it might get even higher if Cas were to fuck him, and the thought has both of them significantly harder.

Dean would beg for Cas to fuck him right now if he wasn't sure that Sam would be home soon if he wasn't already.

In the very next second, he's briefly almost positive that his boyfriend is psychic and just read his mind because Cas's hand finds its way to the base of his cock and then there's a finger running along his rim. His hips thrust upward of their own accord, and a throaty giggle from Cas follows.

" _God_ _—_ do that  _again_...," Dean breathes, though it frustratingly comes out as a bit of a whine, and Cas complies. He also suddenly seems to understand that Dean is trying to stay quiet for a  _reason_  and moves back up to keep his mouth occupied. Cas hears his own name somewhere in them even as he swallows the moans, and he keeps drawing them out with quicker and harder strokes until—until—

 _Until_ is still a wisp of a thought in Cas's head as a sudden warmth spills over his fingers, Dean's orgasm coming in crashing waves that slowly die down. He lets his lips go so he can breathe, and he watches Dean's chest eventually come to an even pace.

After a point it occurs to him that he should uncurl his fingers from around Dean's dick, and when he does they both just sort of start giggling at the awkward stickiness.

"Jus' wipe it on my shirt," Dean tells him in a slow voice, still in the afterglow phase. "I have to take it off anyway—you got my come all over it." He giggles again and Cas grins at him, sitting up to help him get it off. And though his own erection is still straining somewhat painfully along the zipper of his pants, he stays calm pulling Dean's underwear and pants back up, and then lying back down to curl into his boyfriend's chest.

"Was that good?" comes Cas's naturally scratchy voice, along with a brief kiss to Dean's collarbone and stubble rubbing just slightly over his bare chest. He has to ask—it was a first for both of them.

Dean's response starts out with a heavy breath—"That was—" and a short laugh—"fucking  _perfect_ , Cas." His heartbeat much less erratic and his joints much less weak now, he turns his head to kiss him again. And then it actually occurs to him, and he inches his hand down curiously to check for a certain hardness in Cas's pants.

There's a look of distinct relief on his boyfriend's face when he palms him, but he also seems to try to say something along the lines of " _You don't have to_ " before Dean forces himself to sit up and turn Cas onto his back.

Instead of giving him the same exact treatment, though, a better idea comes to mind. So he lowers himself over Cas and kisses him for just a moment—and then Dean's lips are on his jaw, and then his neck, his collarbone, his chest, his ribs, his stomach—and finally down to where he can easily undo Cas's zipper and tug his pants down.

And then Dean's mouth is on Cas's cock through his underwear and there's a sharp gasp from the man underneath him.

"You don't have to do that," Cas tries to verbally assure him now, immediately thinking of Alastair and how he'd figured that this sort of thing might have bad memories for Dean. He doesn't want to bring those up again and, as amazing as this already feels, he's perfectly fine with a handjob.

But Dean's thinking of Alastair too, and how he got so much practice sucking off that bastard for weed that he's perfect for Cas. And this time he's on top, he's in control and he's  _not_  on his knees in some alleyway. He won't ever be doing sexual favors for Alastair ever again and in time, doing this for Cas will make him forget about that entirely.

"I want to, though," Dean insists, tilting his head and looking up at Cas for a moment with hooded eyes to match his now somewhat raspy voice.

As soon as he has Cas's boxers down, his lips are on the head of his cock and he swallows him down without hesitation—all that practice makes it easy, and he has so much control over his gag reflex now that Cas hits the back of his throat with no problem. A few bobs up and down and Cas already has his fingers threading through Dean's hair and grabbing on so tightly it hurts. But he doesn't need to steer Dean here; he knows exactly what he's doing, likely much more than Cas does.

"Oh my  _God_ _—_ _fuck_ ,  _Dean_ _—_ "

"Quiet, remember?" He pops his lips off the head of Cas's cock to remind him with a lusty smirk, and then he gets right back into it, going to town on Cas with hollowed cheeks and a smile curled into the edge of his lips even as he deepthroats him again.

He never went down on Alastair like this—never with kisses up and down his shaft or loving caresses of his tongue or the care he's taking to give Cas the time of his life. It's so far in a different ballpark that Dean isn't reminded of Alastair at all, not even with the way Cas groans or how tightly his hands grip his hair.

Cas comes when he's so deep in Dean's mouth that he doesn't even taste it, and that Dean barely needs to wipe his mouth off when his lips come off Cas's cock for the last time. Immediately, he crawls up on the bed to kiss him, and after a moment he allows himself to fall to Cas's side and just watch him recover, smiling breathlessly like Cas had been doing ten minutes ago.

"That—was... extremely impressive, to say the least."

"What about the most?"

"Fucking  _incredible_. Next time it's my turn to give you a blowjob so I can get some practice."

Dean grins and nuzzles into his neck in silence for a few seconds.

"I'm sure it'll be great no matter what."

* * *

 

Dean only realizes that Sam is in the room  _after_  he kisses Cas goodbye and shuts the front door.

It's not as though he's terrified of his little brother knowing what exactly his relationship with Cas is like—he has no doubt that Sam has a similar one with Lucifer, anyway. Even if it wasn't like that, Sam's a kid. He wouldn't judge his big brother.

But he is a little disappointed that he had to find out like that. So when he notices Sam grab a water from the fridge and walk over to the couch, he doesn't mention it or act like anything is out of the ordinary. Right as he sits down next to Sam, though—

"Do you love Cas?"

Sam asks the question with a sharp turn of his head and a sort of urgent curiosity, like he's been dying to know. It comes with such a surprise that Dean doesn't know whether to just sit with his mouth hanging open or to laugh—he ends up doing both, in that order.

"I... yeah, I guess I do," he eventually admits after opening and closing his mouth several times. It's not news to him, not really. But he has yet to say it out loud and the words feel like such relief coming out of his mouth that his lips can't help but stretch into a brief, toothy smile. He doesn't care that Sam knows—he's glad, even. He needs  _someone_  to know and not to judge him for it.

"Have you told him?" Sam frowns, now less urgent and softer. But shit, the kid doesn't beat around the bush.

Dean lets out a short breath of a laugh before answering. Partially out of slight uneasiness. "Uh... not really. Not... in those exact words. I wrote him a song, though. I think he knows."

"But why not?"

"...I dunno," he shrugs, looking away from Sam and instead at the muted news on the TV. "I guess I'm a little scared that he won't say it back. It's a little stupid." He's about to let Sam ask whatever other questions he might have on his mind when a question of his own comes to mind, and he decides that it's his turn—"Do you love Lucifer?"

Sam seems surprised and, for a moment, almost terrified. But Dean just bared his heart and he's not about to let him get away with not answering just because he's his baby brother.

"He said that he loves me," he tells Dean after a few seconds of silence—after he calms down. Embarrassed for a reason he can't figure out, he looks down at his lap and grips the couch.

"Did you say it back?"

Sam notes the pure casualness in Dean's voice and realizes that his big brother really doesn't have a problem with Lucifer anymore. He doesn't know what he was afraid of before at  _all_  and has a sudden burst of courage.

He looks up. "Yeah. And I meant it."

 _Damn._  Dean smiles wide at Sam and gives his hair a brotherly tussle before leaning back. He wishes he was that self-assured at that age.

"You know it's getting better, right?" he turns and tells Sam in the next couple seconds. "There won't always be people like Dad. I bet... I bet by the time you're twenty, you and Lucifer can live together and Cas and I can live together and no one will give a shit."

He never thought much about it before—not when guys came and ripped his and Lucifer's hands apart or when slurs were written on their desks in marker or even when his Dad had forcibly torn them both out of his bed. But the thought gives Sam hope, and he can't remember ever being any happier. Especially that it turns out he has a brother who's just like him.

* * *

 

Eating out together becomes a thing that they do at least twice a week, and over the course of time and trial and error, they've managed to figure out which places in town are the most liberal so that they won't have to be so cautious. Neither of them have suffered anything worse than vague threats of assault so far, though, which is pretty damn lucky considering where they live.

There's a roadhouse cafe sort of place that has gigs most nights that they're open, and Dean really appreciates being able to hold hands with Cas and eat a quality burger while listening to quality music. A lot of the time it's small bands that are just good enough to get a gig there, trying to make their big break, but sometimes legitimate artists are there for a show. And of course they steal the whole show when they're there because no one wants to be opening for people who are obviously going to upstage them because they matter more.

Martina McBride and Melissa Etheridge have each had a Saturday night show to themselves, at which points the place was so packed that Dean almost wanted to just leave despite having gotten great seats beforehand (they go there so often now that they're considered special customers). Even the band Kansas themselves have had a show, though it's kind of sad at this point because Kansas is a pretty huge joke outside of their mere two infamous songs.

Dean makes fun of them immensely but enjoys the show nevertheless because he really doesn't care what anyone else thinks— _Child of Innocence_  is still one of his favorite songs. He continues to make fun of them afterwards while they're driving home, and though it's fairly true that Kansas is washed up and kind of needs to stop, Cas knows better than to think that Dean genuinely hates them.

In fact, Dean making fun of something is almost a sure-fire sign that in actuality he loves it.

Which happens to be why he also makes fun of Cas a lot.

Sometimes more punkish bands get gigs at the roadhouse, which Cas loves, and which Dean also loves because seeing his boyfriend so excited is always the highlight of his day. More often than not Cas hasn't even heard of them before they show up, but they always leave having gained a new fan. After the show, Cas will go and talk to them and compliment their tattoos and show them his own, at which he always gets a pretty enthusiastic response and then gives that cute little grin of accomplishment.

He'll always mention afterwards that he thinks it would be great if Dean got a tattoo because he thinks that he'd pull it off really well.

"Can't until I'm eighteen—if I got it in a noticeable place and my dad saw it, I'd be dead. Literally dead. You'd have to dig me up and perform some weird ritual on me and then you'd have a rotting, zombie boyfriend."

"Then don't get it in a noticeable place?"

Dean sighs—"I want my first tattoo to be on my shoulder and upper arm, though." For a moment he's a bit nervous about explaining it when he notices Cas's curious look, but then he has a burst of courage. "I, uh—a handprint. Specifically, your handprint."

Cas gives him a courteously short moment of pause before asking, "Why a handprint?"

"Because—okay, it's kind of dumb. But it's... you made a mark on me. And I always feel it like you're right there, just grabbing my shoulder." And if, for some crazy reason, they don't last, it's not identifying other than the fact that someone  _did_  make a mark on him. Which will always be true regardless of what happens.

He responds with a quiet smile and by promptly grabbing Dean's shoulder.

Sometime in late March, their relationship with the owners of the roadhouse has gotten to the point of conversations that go further than the usual "How's work going today" and "Got any plans for the weekend?" The actual owner, Ellen, reminds Dean a lot of his godfather Bobby. Cas likes her because she's mean and blunt in a fantastic way, and she's possibly the polar opposite to his own family. It occurs to Dean later that she's a lot like what he remembers of his mom, too.

Meanwhile her daughter, Jo, has become like a bit of a sister to him. She teases him in the same way that he teases Sam even though she's younger, and she's more like her mother than she thinks.

And then there's Ash, who's pretty weird and only sometimes there and no one really knows where he's from but everyone likes him.

One night's show brings them after closing hours with Dean and Cas helping out with the clean-up, despite Ellen's insistence that they leave it to the people who actually work there. They can't afford to hire more help anyway, but Dean and Cas really don't mind picking up trash and wiping a few tables for free.

"One of our regular bands is cancelling on us, apparently," Ellen mentions as she walks into the main room, returning from a phone call she'd been having. She somehow only looks vaguely annoyed. Jo and Dean stop cleaning and look up. "For good. It's that British singer girl—Talbot. She's moving onto bigger and better things, I guess."

"Didn't she have the main Friday spot?" Cas says unexpectedly, jolting off of the floor with scraps of paper nearly falling out of his hands in the process. It's with an urgent curiosity that makes everyone sure that he's up to something.

"Yeah, why?" Ellen frowns and leans on the edge of the bar.

"Then that means you'll need someone to fill that space." There's a sudden grin stretching its way through Cas's lips and everyone else is mildly confused as an idea finalizes itself in his head. Dumping the trash in his hands into the garbage, he takes a long and quick stride towards Dean and gestures to him. "I got your new Friday gig right here."

For a moment everyone's just staring blankly at Cas, who goes from looking proudly at Dean to looking around at everyone else for confirmation.

"Me? No. No way, I couldn't do it," Dean insists the moment he realizes what Cas meant.

"Are you really that good at guitar?" Jo asks seriously, ignoring what he just said.

Dean spins around and shakes his head wildly. "No, I'm not!"  
"You are, though!" Cas speaks up again, stepping forward to grab his shoulder and turn him towards him. "You can play and you can sing—show them how well you do!"

"I've played in front of you and Sam—that's it."

"But you're really good and we've even  _talked_  about how all you really need to get famous at this point is to get a gig and get noticed—"

"Yeah, but I wasn't serious!" Dean cuts in with exasperation, honestly feeling very annoyed at the situation. Enough to shrug his boyfriend's hand away. Cas frowns at him, and for the time being it's like Ellen and Jo aren't even there. "I thought... I just figured we were fantasy-talking. Yeah, I would fucking love to be famous for music. But I never really thought it would happen—I always figured I'd be fixing cars for the rest of my life. Do you realize how few people actually get into the music business?"

In the middle of Cas sighing and staring at him sadly, there's a squeak from the other side of the room where Ellen is now sitting on a barstool.

"If you boys don't mind me interrupting, I'd like to say something," she says, leaning forward in her chair and immediately coaxing the other three to turn their heads around. "Just because you think it's unlikely, doesn't mean you shouldn't  _try_... Do you know how many people aren't in the music business just because they never tried? Probably a lot. And now that you've awakened my curiosity, I  _demand_  you show me what you got."

Jo and Cas both smirk fondly for the woman at the same time, and Dean represses one with a grimace. He doesn't have the highest self-esteem and he's still terrified of just humiliating himself in spite of how much he's practiced in front of Cas, but Ellen's word is law. It's more sensible to be afraid that she'll hit him or shout at him or put him in time-out, anyway.

So he hangs his head in defeat and mumbles a "fine" before walking out to the impala to grab his guitar from the trunk.

"Alright," he sighs upon getting back inside and sitting down on the stage. They all follow and stand around—except for Cas, who sits down next to him. He feels significantly better after that. "So... uh. What do you want me to play?" He's too nervous to be indecisive right now.

"Do something from the Red Hot Chili Peppers," Jo immediately suggests, looking much too eager. No one else objects, and Dean doesn't mind because he absolutely loves them and already has a song on his mind.

The problem now is actually having the conviction to play it in front of people who have never seen him play anymore. It was different with Cas because... well, Cas is  _Cas_. It was trust at first sight. But as much like family Ellen and Jo are, it's hard to do this. It's more than just putting his fingers to the strings and playing.

So he mentally prepares himself while tuning what doesn't even really need to be tuned all that much. His heart his still beating erratically, though, and he's starting to think that he really can't do it—

And then there's a hand on his shoulder and lips on his cheek. Dean glances to his right to find a reassuring smile and the soft blue eyes he fell in love with, and it's cheesy as fuck but it calms him down. Looking back to his chord hand, he tries to calm down again and is significantly more successful.

And then it just happens. What the song means to him gets him so hard with the beginning chords that he nearly forgets anyone but Cas is there, and he has almost no problem starting to sing, either. Then already by the time he's tapping on the guitar, he's smiling and by the next verse his voice is louder and only cracks once (but that's probably more in his head).

Jo's smile screams approval when he finishes, and even though he never wanted to do this in the first place, he's still anxious for what Ellen's going to say.

"Can you get yourself ready to play in front of crowds by Friday?"

 _Oh. Wow._  The smile Ellen gives him reminds him of his mom, and Dean has this great urge to hug her. But it would be too weird from where he's sitting now, so he doesn't, and instead just wraps an arm around Cas's waist.

"But—I'm not... a real artist," he reminds everyone, including himself. "I don't write any of my own songs or anything."

"You're not doing record deals yet, just singing in a roadhouse," Jo tells him like it should be obvious. "'Sides, what people want is a nice voice and a pretty face and talent—all of which, you got. They don't care if they're listening to new songs or not."

Everyone's smiling at him like he has no choice but to agree to do it. And Cas is giving him the eyes that he just  _can't_  say no too, so—

"Looks like I'll be here every Friday," he decides, resigning himself to his fate.

He subsequently gets that hug from Ellen that he wanted, and on the way out Cas kisses him in a way that makes him believe that he really could be famous someday.

* * *

 

Jo wasn't wrong when she said that people want a pretty face. After months of playing at the roadhouse every Friday, he's developed a bit of a female fanbase who now  _also_  show up every Friday in order to see him.

The first few times that girls talked to him after his shows and heavily flirted at them, Dean allowed it if only for the attention that he's so desperately needed his whole life, but Cas would always show up at his side to kiss him on the cheek and thus scare them off.

After a while it just got funny to see the reactions, and the same girls keep coming around anyway. He thinks that they think he's doing it for attention somehow. Either way, it helps Ellen's business and he gets paid.

Honestly, Dean isn't all that skeptical about the possibility of a future in music anymore. If he's already at this point by the end of his sophomore year in high school, then where will he be by next year—by the end of high school, even? Sometimes he thinks about it for so long that he has to stop for his own sake. Can't risk getting his hopes up too high.

The tips are so good that he can actually afford to buy Cas gifts, now. He buys treats for Sam all the time now, too. Hell, he could probably quit his weekend job and still be fine. But he won't. The more money, the better.

Sam and Lucifer have come to a couple of his shows now, as well as several people from the school. Probably even a few teachers. John's going to find out any day now and probably yell at him, but he's prepared for it. Dean spent so long afraid to do what he wanted for fear of his dad's punishment, but he's not anymore. He really isn't.

The school year ends in June, which makes life infinitely better. And Dean spends most of it with Cas, falling—if it's even possible—even more in love with him. Cas suggests a short roadtrip out of the state for a couple weeks, so Dean saves up from both jobs and Cas saves up allowance.

Eventually August comes and Cas turns seventeen, and then school comes around again and the fact that time goes on continues to prove itself. They're both changed men now—Cas can drive and Dean is steps away from getting some kind of big break. And they have each other. They're starting something actually feeling ready for it for the first time in their lives.

The anniversary of their first meeting passes and subsequently a whole bunch of other anniversaries pass which they don't mention because neither of them remember that many exact days. The anniversary of the day Dean stopped smoking weed for good is one they feel particularly proud of, though.

Only in December of that year does Dean finally feel comfortable playing Angeles in the roadhouse.

"This is a song I wrote a while ago for someone very special to me, and it was always so personal that I felt wrong playing it, but now I think you all ought to see how special he is to me," he says, nodding in Cas's direction. No disgusted faces look back at him when he looks out at the audience, and everything is absolutely wonderful.

Later that night, Dean approaches Cas with an odd quirk in his step and an expression that feels too permanent. It takes him a second to make words come out of his mouth.

"You'll never believe who I was just talking to."

"Oh shit—was it an agent?"

"Fucking— _better_. It was Elliot Smith. As in,  _the singer Elliot Smith_. He's in town and he's playing here tomorrow and he wanted to check the place out first and he heard my song and he told me—"

"Shit, slow down—breathe, Dean," Cas has to remind him so he doesn't get too excited. Dean nods and takes a break, then starts back up.

"He told me that he loves my song and that its just his style, and that he would pay to take the rights to the song,  _and_  that if and when I write more songs, he can recommend me to his record company because he's sure they'll be great songs."

Dean's still holding back so much emotion that he's sure he'll burst, and Cas plans to make sure that he doesn't. At least not in public.

"So." Cas puts his hands on the junctions between Dean's shoulders and neck, holding him firmly in place. He blinks once. "This is _-_ it's your  _chance_. All you need to do is write some songs and—"

" _I know_ ," Dean stresses, his hands coming up to grip Cas's face because they have nothing else to do.

"Did you say yes?"

He figures that was a dumb question until Dean answers. "Not yet—he gave me his number to call once I had an answer. I... wanted your permission first. I mean, I wrote the song for  _you_ , and it doesn't feel right just—"

"Dean." There he goes, doing that thing again. Stopping the world with a firm utterance of Dean's name. As always, it helps. "Do you really think I would care about you signing over the song if it's going to get you everything you always wanted?"

He supposes that he didn't, but he never really  _can_  help being unsure of everything, especially himself.

As he officially takes that as a yes, the future flashes through his head and it swells his chest up like a balloon. It swells his cheeks up too because then he's grinning at Cas and he can't really breathe, but he manages to add, "Elliot also told me that he doesn't think he's ever seen a stronger bond between two people who love each other, and he only saw it through the song and how we looked at each other."

Right there,  _right fucking there_ , he said it. Dean said it but he didn't say it, and Cas realizes it with a stupidly wide smile. So stupid, in fact, that he immediately feels the need to smother it with Dean's mouth to hide it, to say  _me too, I fucking love you too_ , and most of all just to kiss him.

They don't stop until Ellen tells them that it's closing time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is. I hope I wrapped up everything well enough. And if you want to see what happens in the future with Dean and Cas, I won't be writing an epilogue, BUT I will be writing the side-story for Sam and Lucifer. That includes them growing up for about 6 years ahead of the timeline of Angeles, so you'll be able to see, from Sam's point of view, a bit of what goes on with Dean and Cas later.
> 
> For those who don't already follow me, my tumblr url (as well as my 8tracks account) is captainlucifer, and you'll get plenty more destiel and samifer.


End file.
